Make A Garden

Today was an Elizabeth day. Most Wednesday mornings are. We kicked things off with a round of "the picture card matching game", followed by a reading of Who, Who, Who Lost a Shoe, and had some snacks. Teeny pretzel sandwiches with peanut butter on the inside. whoa! After that I suggested we go outside and see what was popping out of the ground.

The minute we stepped out we heard a lot of swoosh swoosh swooshing going on. The sound was close by, but for the life of us we couldn't figure out what it was. Then we saw them; twenty-four wild turkeys, (we counted them!), dragging their tiny turkey feet through the dry leaves in the neighbor's stand of trees. Elizabeth and I crouched down and watched them peck their way to the back of the woods, meandering towards Joan and Arnold's backyard. I love wild turkeys. But I'll save that for another piece.

Elizabeth said, "Dirt piles, Bean," and pointed to the street. So we made our way to the wooden bench under the apple tree at the end of my front yard. I put my arm around her. We snuggled and listened to the birds singing like crazy. And we stared at the piles of dirt that Frankie, the new neighbor, had dumped before the last whopping snow storm.

At first, I didn't really notice them, the dirt piles. Or maybe I did, but for a while they looked like fluffy mounds of pretty white snow. Now they're just dirt piles filled with chunks of rocks and small tree stumps, spilling over onto the street. I'm sure Frankie has some kind of plan for the piles. He's going to smooth them out, grow grass, plant an orchard, right?

But in the meantime, Spring is one of my favorite seasons and it's getting ready to give birth in a big way. I am panting for daffodils and crocuses, poised for all things blooming.

"I don't know, Elizabeth, I'm not liking these dirt piles."

"Make a garden, Bean," she said, nodding her head.

She never elaborates. It's just what she says every time I start complaining about the damn dirt piles.

Clearly, I need work on my creative visualization skills. I may be rusty, but I'm a willing student. Tomorrow morning when I get up, I'm going to look out my picture window, sigh and say, Oh look! What a pretty garden.