04.11.01
There used to be a woman named Colette, who lived in the basement apartment with two cats and two dogs. During the six years she lived in this building, she planted a lot of beautiful flowers around the property.
When she moved out four years ago, I asked the landlord if I could take over the flower bed at the edge of the property. He said as long as I kept it neat and attractive, that I was more than welcome to tend the small rectangle of earth. I cleared out the weeds that choked out what few plants remained from Colette's tenure, and defined the borders of the bed with neatly-arranged bricks. I bought bags of red cedar mulch and spread them over the bed, making it more attractive. I even stuck a little sign that someone gave me into the bed, hoping that the "GROW" emblazoned across it would lend further motivation to the plants therein.
Over the years, I figured out what plants worked with the peculiarities of the spot. In the early spring, the garden receives full sun, in the late spring it receives partial sun, and in the summer it is partially to fully shaded during the day. I planted viola freckles that I grew from seed, chocolate mint, and pink and purple Irish columbines that I grew from seed, for the spring. Croscoema, purple speedwell, oxe eye daisies, shasta daisies, purple coneflowers my mother gave me, false spirea that Colette had planted, and blooming nightshade (yeah, it's lethal, but it has beautiful foliage and flowers, and attractive berries in the fall) that I'd dug up from the field across the street where the houses used to be, kept the garden cheery during the summer. I sprinkled fertilizers to encourage plant growth, and bloodmeal to discourage foraging critters.
This year, I was thinking about rearranging the established plants, adding some ferns and hostas, and maybe introducing some new perennials into the mix. I spent the winter scouring magazines for planting ideas, and researched potential flowers online.
Sunday, I went out into the beautiful warm, sunny day and cheerfully cleaned out the bed, gently removing leaves, twigs and branches that hid the delicate buds of the flowers that lie beneath the mess.
Tuesday, I scampered down my front stairs on my way to work, but giving myself extra time to stop and check the progress of my flowers. What I found was an empty rectangle of earth. All of the plants, the mulch, the little sign that said "GROW" were gone. The bricks had been moved and the earth was devoid of life -- someone had gone through and weedwhacked the entire area (lawn, underbrush, flowerbed), and then roto-tilled it.
Tuesday morning, I cried.
