I am at odds with myself.
You see, I’m oddly infatuated with the bunny that lives in our yard. She’s huge. Her off-center white tail is her trademark as she plops lazily around the yard. She no longer bothers o race for cover when we come out, knowing as she does that we just sit nearby and watch her.
Our yard is her sanctuary, bordered on three sides by dogs and on one by a rather busy road.
I’m also a wannabe gardener. Each year I take a new patch of sterile lawn and turn it into a perennial oasis. A yard that once harbored nothing but a stiff arrangement of pine trees now gives us strawberries, raspberries and rhubarb each spring, purple beans, tomatoes, and all the rest in the summer, and in the fall, apples and grapes. I’m not the best at planning out my blooms, but each year I move a little closer to achieving an all-season flowering among the edibles.
It’s the perfect hobby for me: mistakes are easily corrected, results are very tangible, and, well, I love staying close to my farm girl roots even though we’re minutes from down town.
Clearly, my bunny love is at odds with my flora fetish.
Thus, I am inside tonight, rather than outside weeding and thinning and fertilizing. The whole yard smells horrendous. But that liquid fence really works! Live on bunny, but stay out of my field lilies!