March 31, 2006

Spring Ghosts

I'm looking out at the backyard, and realizing I have to get out there and do all the stuff I put off last fall. This is the house I grew up in, and I guess I just think my dad will still materialize with his wheelbarrow and cutoff rubber wellies and start doing the clean up.

It's a mixed blessing, where I live. I'm staring at my father's tigerlillies, his favourites, pushing their way up. His tulips are everywhere, and a few stinky hyacinths still remain. The glorious jumbo irises, my mother's namesake, are now all over the place. I think he'd like that I've been dividing them everywhere.

I've totally wrecked the roses, dad. Sorry. But I've turned the original eight hostas into hundreds, they ring the yard. I'm lousy at composting, there still are no vegetables out there, and I'll be damned if I can get an ivy to grow against the fence. You never liked ivy. Trying to tell me something?

My mom wanted flowers, my dad wanted vegetables, so we always had this odd garden of roses mixed with garlic, green onions amid tulips. To this day, I smell garlic whenever I work in the garden, and I impatiently wipe away tears with the gloves that I still wear, the ones dad lifted from Dofasco thirty years ago.

Sorry folks. It's a tough, wonderful time of year.


Anonymous kevan migneault said...

june 13th/14.just read your article on dad/cabin/. I read car stuff a fair bit but apparently don't pay attention to writers names. until today. loved the article,laughed & cried as read it. will enjoy reading your past material & look forward to future articles, kevan migneault north battleford sask

June 14, 2014 12:55 AM  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home