the ballad of the backyard

He was a cardiologist. She was a schoolteacher.

They had spent many happy years together, building a life, raising their children and setting them free. One day, their happy and cozy nest was...empty, save for each other. In that bittersweet moment, they turned toward each other and embarked on a new life together. They sold the home in which they raised their now-adult children and, along with their trusty dog, moved into a slightly smaller home, just right for launching their new adventure. They never expected to move to Chenal, full of outsized quasi-Tuscan McMansions, sprawling lawns and ostentation galore, but when they saw the house, with its uncharacteristically cottagey feel and its lovely shaded backyard, they knew it was perfect for them. They spent six happy years there, working hard during the day and returning in the evenings to their new sanctuary. An avid gardener, she found the spacious backyard perfect for creating a lovely landscape, framed by sculpted beds of boxwoods, azaleas, and camellias. She planted bulbs, and she and her husband were always newly charmed by them - in the spring, it seemed that a new flower greeted them each Sunday when they retreated to the patio to share the newspaper and their morning coffee. She planted herbs. She spent quiet hours pulling up weeds while the dog happily napped in his favorite patch of ground cover. Life was sweet.

One day, her husband, having devoted his entire life to the practice of medicine, received wonderful news - a hospital in a large Texan city offered him a position that would be the culmination of all his hard work. After some deliberation, they decided to embark on yet another new adventure, while they were still young enough to do it, and called a realtor.

It took only two weeks. The couple received word that a young family had made an offer on their house. Apparently the young man was a military officer stationed at Little Rock - how unusual that they should move all the way out west instead of to Sherwood or Cabot! They didn't know much about the wife, but had been told that the new buyers had one child - a little girl, they'd heard. Oh, they'll love it here. According to the realtor, the young couple had taken a look at the backyard garden and fallen in love. The deal was made. The cardiologist and the teacher once again packed their memories, called for a moving truck and, after spending one more quiet morning sipping coffee together in their beloved garden, left their keys behind for the pilot and his wife, closed the door behind them, and headed toward their new life in Texas. The garden stayed behind to extend its gracious welcome to the new owners.

Isn't that a lovely story? Poor suckers. They had no idea they'd sold their home to the scourge of Chenal Valley.

Look, I didn't mean for things to get this out of hand, okay? I really did have the best of intentions when the Colonel and I looked at each other and said "yes - this is the house." Sure, Chenal is a long way from base, but that was actually part of its appeal (especially for me), and the easy hop onto I-430 from Cantrell made it more practical as a commute than something in the middle of town. But what really seduced me was the backyard. It offered shade and privacy and beauty - all the things I craved after the last three years spent in a midwestern gulag. How could something so beautiful ever be a burden?

Of course, while I was making that earnest declaration from my deck chair on Fantasy Frickin' Island, I failed to take into account the following facts:

1. I know jack squat about gardening, and my husband knows even less.
2. The way I manage my time, I could know as much about gardening as P. Allen Smith and my garden would still go to seed, since I'm not particularly good at building in time for basic yard maintenance;
3. I spend an appalling lack of time at home to begin with, so I didn't even realize it was so far off the rails until WAY late in the game, and by that time, it was too dang hot to do anything about it.

So now I am looking out onto a yard that is in more serious need of rehab than Lindsay Lohan. And let's face it, my thumb didn't get any greener despite my resolve to clean up this flood drainage-ravaged mess of weeds and overgrown shrubbery. I am acutely aware that if the nice couple who sold us this house were to drive by now and see it, they would get out of their late-model BMW, knock on my door, wait for me to answer, and then drag me out onto the front porch and give me the beatdown I deserve.
Nice older couple, I'm sorry I let you down. No excuses: I dropped the ball. But I will make you this solemn promise: I will pull up my wellies and grab a shovel. As God is my witness...I. Will. Make. This. Right.
And with that, the battle for my redemption begins.