Maybe it's spring knocking on the window. Marty had an incredible garden. Spring time was busy time. Getting things planted. He'd empty his huge compost bin out and mixed it with mulch and dirt.
Vicki would walk the garden, hands clasped daintily behind her back.
My memories of looking into Marty's yard are almost always of the spring. It's a nice temperature, probably mid-April. Warm enough for shorts, the sun shining bright, but still cool enough to not overheat.
Sal and I went to the Botanical Gardens a few Fridays ago. One of the first nice days. We were feeling cooped up. . And we just haven't had much time to spend by ourselves in a while. We needed an activity that had us engaged with each other and not the outside world.
Marty volunteered at the Botanical Gardens for 30 something years. I see him everywhere at the garden. The way plants are laid out, the color of mulch, the type of plants. I don't know if he influenced some of the gardens or if the garden influenced him, but it's the only version of his yard that still exists.
Vicki always seemed so frail, but frail like lace. She would give me little hard candies, her back crooked from a tough life living with a debilitating disease, shaking as she unwrapped the sweet.
She was very soft spoken. I remember always having to lean in to hear her.
Vicki died well before Marty. I don't really remember when. I just remember she wasn't there one day. It was after we had left north county. Funny how things sometimes just don't get written to your memory bank. I don't even remember if we attended her funeral.
There's a picture I drew of Marty's backyard when I was a child. I gave it to him. Completely forgot about it. Then my high-school graduation, Marty showed up. I hadn't seen Marty in four years at this point. Screw the rest of my party, you all see me all the time.
I sat with Marty at the kitchen table for an hour, just reminiscing.
It's the last interaction I ever had with Marty. It's a good one. His calming voice, more raspy than I remember, just telling stories about me kicking a soccer ball over his fence.
He had a huge compost bin I used to spin around like a toy. Now that I compost myself, I know I was helping the process.
He remembered that I took a cooking class at the rec center where we made cakes. Again... I was a child. And I put a metric ton of icing on the cake and tried to give it to him and Vicki. They had to politely decline, as they knew that this 10 year old was trying to kill them via sugar.
He talked about how he used to like talking to us over the fence and watching us play soccer. He liked coming to the parties my parents would throw. Yelling across the yard at my dad while he (my dad) smoked cigarettes and flipped through his morning paper.
I have one of Marty's plants in my side yard. Just planted it last year. I took care to make sure it didn't get root shock. It came back strong this spring. Was one of the first things to grow in my garden. In fact, I think the plant may be sentient. It's recognized that the bird bath next to it has water and I find the leaves stretching into the bird bath basin daily.
Marty had a hell of a life. (Really, read his obituary. He's written into the DNA of St. Louis.) I hope my life is as fulfilled as Marty's. I hope someone day dreams staring out the window, with a smirk on their face remembering the time they kick a soccerball into my yard.
No comments:
Post a Comment