Chatham Nature Writing Blog: Place Entry #6

In like a Lion, out like a Lamb. Equinox. April Fool’s Day. Easter. March. April. May. The words remind me of proper nouns, as if Spring holds a clarity unlike any other season. It is a time of Cliché, of Rebirth, of New Beginnings, even of Baseball. The Earth, I have long argued, is the ultimate proper noun. Perhaps in our language we should label it EARTH. Without Earth, where would we be? That type of rhetoric might lead to absurdist humor. We’d be nowhere, out in space, among the abyss. We wouldn’t be of course, but that is a topic for existentialists to consider on other platforms. I can only be in my own existence, and I have a messy yard to drain, grass to cut (if it dries), and the ever-pleasant task of cleaning up after the dogs.

My yard upon this Earth curls under an overcast day as if the clouds were at play with a saucy mixture from a cake recipe. The surface water swill from last night’s storm has flooded the yard again; flood being a relative term. Steps are sloshed and shoes muddied. There will be no playing for children here today. Somewhere, terror floods fields and farms, but that is in another nation whose capitalization I am not concerned with. Today, I only worry about a plot of land on Beryl Drive owned by the Kirks. A slight breeze slings the fresh-top grass blades in pulsating dance steps that swing against the wishes of the sunblock-generation-kids in my yard.

They want so badly to play. My youngest tries cartwheel kicks over by one dry patch as she continues to learn gymnastics. The older two chase and dart after each other in a game of tag, the rules not clear to me. I survey the yard not as an observer today, but rather as a dad who longs for these longer moments. A seasonal dip in the temperature has returned things to normal. The air hovers around forty and light jackets make our play cumbersome, yet we invent a game of almost-tennis over the failed ice rink. At least those borders were good for something! I win the first two matches and then lose three straight. Might that forecast another losing season for my beloved baseball Pirates? I hope not, hope to the point that Hope itself should also be a proper noun. Hope may be a thing, but it is a thing of beauty. So many other things of beauty get the shift key treatment when one is typing: Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, why not Hope?

My yard is not as wide as Arizona’s hole nor as damp as our natural border with Canada, yet it falls on this dad’s shoulders to maintain a certain suburban image and borough ordinance concerning yardwork. I hate yardwork, Hate it with a capital H. And what about Dad? What work and trouble with the yard will I encounter? The kids don’t seem to care that the grass is too high. It is common for people to refer to their own father as Dad, but to the general principle of parenting as the guy known as dad. It is a fair comparison. But what if Dad came to represent a status in our society? What if deadbeat dad deserves lower case and an honorable dude earned his Dad spelling? What if Father meant that this Dad is further removed from the dad who lives farther away and only calls on Father’s Day? Perhaps we could rid the world of fatherless homes if we gave merit to a Dad and a Father whose rank was worthy of such address.

But the yard will soon needed tended to, and I also happen to be lousy at yardwork. In that realm I would earn a D-minus if grades were being handed out; or worse, an F. My landscaping skills look as if a third grader had drawn them up in art class and magically transplanted the slanted and mismatched picture onto my property. I am no Dad of Grass-cutting either. Then again, I prefer less curb appeal and more memories. Yes, I declare that a good back yard ought to be one smudged with dandelions and divots where wrestled-down knees meet their match, spots where Tide earns its keep. I decree a rally cry for Better Dads and Who Cares Yards!

Oh well, tis time to play. My kids want to get out on the yard and really Play. There is so much for them to experience – Mud, Laughter, Dirt, Breath, Smiles – all as they traipse upon this Earth.