Compost

Compost

When we first moved onto our block in the late 70’s, there were no street
trees and all the little front yards were paved with concrete. That first
spring I took a sledgehammer to our front and pulled out the concrete,
leaving an ugly hole and barren subsoil. The next time I visited my mother,
I filled the trunk of the car with as much compost from her big bin as would
fit and used it to create my front garden.

I remember coming home from vacation later that summer and being shocked
with delight at all the flowers that had burst into bloom—-marigolds,
geraniums, Black-eyed Susans. It was a vision of loveliness. Much has
changed over the years. More and more neighbors broke up their concrete to
create little front gardens. We started planting trees. Our children grew
and climbed in the trees, and our front got more and more shady. Now it
reminds me of a woodland floor—-equally lovely in its own way.

With the loss of our neighbor’s big old trees in the back, that’s now our
sunny spot and I’ve scrambled to fill a space where nothing but ivy would
grow into a bright spot of color. Through all those years, my little
compost pile in the side yard has steadily absorbed the kitchen waste and
weeds and provided all the fertilizer I needed and the dirt for all the
potted plants.

The boys are now grown and have moved to a little row house five blocks
away. It came with a tiny front yard, not concrete, but poor barren soil
overgrown with weeds, just like that of the abandoned house next door. The
other day they came to me for help, just as I had gone to my mother so many
years ago. I gave them plants that had spread and multiplied beyond the
capacity of my little space, a bag of leaves I’d scrounged in the fall, and
a great container of compost from my pile. In the cool of the evening, I
biked over to their house to see what they had done. They were as proud as
new parents, and the two little front yards looked hopeful and full of
promise. What we couldn’t see, but all were thinking of, was the
compost—-two generous scoops dug into the holes where each plant was taking
root.



Fair trade

She sits on a bench
pigeons gathered round
and throws breadcrumbs
while she talks--
family troubles, maybe
or things on her mind.

The pigeons stay close,
a willing audience--
it seems a fair exchange.

5.08



Some things that have made me hopeful:
All the countries in Africa that turned back the Chinese ship carrying arms
to Zimbabwe in the spring.
Apologies from Australia and Canada for the mistreatment of native people,
and the truth and reconciliation processes that will allow for continued
conversation over the coming years.