Okay, this is really about spying on my neighbors’ lawn, not the people. A couple of years ago, they had a new privacy fence put in. I got to see the layout of their backyard from my office window for the period of time between taking down the old fence and putting up the new. About a week after the new fence went up, they had to cut away a bottom section of one of the planks…so their cats can wander the neighborhood.
The back of their yard has some kind of pointy, column-like evergreen hedge forming a barrier between their property and the house behind them. I’d like to replace my privacy fence with a hedge like that.
But the best part of their landscaping is some bush or shrub that I cannot identify. It is green year round, but from my office window (two houses away) it does not appear to be an evergreen. I love this plant because it is very fluid. The slightest breeze sets it to dancing like a drugged-up disco dancer. One day in February, I looked out my window–and it was no where to be seen. I was bereft.
The neighborhood already lost a couple of goregous Norway maples (I think that’s what they were) due to another property owner cutting them down. Their brilliant red-orange leaves were a high point of autumn. I wept when I saw them being taken down. I digress.
A few days later, the shrub reappeared. It seems the weight of the snow had compressed it. Sure enough, the same thing happened after the next significant snowfall. The snow melted, the plant popped back up, rejoicing in every stray breeze it can find.
I thought about knocking on this neighbor’s door (I do not know them) and asking what kind of plant it is. I considered asking the neighbor between our houses to find out for me. Then I realized knowing what kind of bush it is will make no difference. It’s not as if I can plant one in my own yard to enjoy. I couldn’t see it from my office. And even if I did plant one in my back yard to enjoy in warmer weather while on my patio, my plant-blind husband would weed-wack it into oblivion. Then I couldn’t enjoy it, and I’d be angry.
So I will continue to sit at my desk, delight in the dance, and attempt to capture its joy in haiku.
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Post Script: I went away on a writing retreat this past weekend. When I returned, the bush, my happy dancing bush, had been replaced by more pointy, column-like evergreens. My heart aches. I hate that my neighbors all feel free to take down trees that bring me so much joy.
