Thursday, April 4, 2013

I love my crazy backyard. My tiny, crazy backyard. It makes no sense and it looks thrown together by a maniac who's sniffed and sprayed too much paint, but I think that's why I like it.

I can't grow plants. Most start to wilt as I walk in their direction, but for some reason everything grows. I like things to be perfectly spaced and level, and nothing is straight or level. Even the birdbath tilts. I love all kinds of pottery, especially outdoor pottery, but most of the containers are random thrifted items, repurposed for my purposes, i.e. the duck pitcher, the foo dog bookend, the ice bucket, and the random filing cabinet parts. Even the birdbath is made up of pieces purchased years apart that somehow work together in this garden.

And, best of all, it's boy and dog proof. Most of the plants are succulents and get broken off with abandon, only to replant themselves in an even better spot. Sometimes toys even make their way into the garden and take up permanent residency.

Because I love the color and the spirit of the garden, I would love to be able to sit outside. And read. Or nap. But it's so small. And there is no cover. And I can literally have full conversations with my neighbor who lives behind me because her house butts up against our fence. So aside from the full sun, the small space, and the "Hi, Diane!" thing, it would be a perfect place to build a respite spot.

That'll be my next project, figuring out how to spend more time in a place I like. Maybe something a little like ziss:

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