Lydia Hansen
My backyard. Specifically, the swing on our patio during the spring where I can smell the fresh lilac bushes that enclose our yard. The lilac bushes smell like my mother and my grandmother. The swing itself is my mother’s prized possession of the backyard. She swings in all of the seasons, some with our dog Lila and some with my sister and I.
The backyard is my mother’s canvas. She used to paint with brushes and charcoal, yet the flowers themselves are her old versions of oil and watercolors. Tulips in the spring that chipmunks destroy and iris, specifically purple, that Lila likes to lay in. Yet there are the hostas that Jo, our other dog, ventures under to escape the heat of the summer, and the daffodils that no one knows where they came from.
We sit, swing and talk. Talk about everything and nothing all at once. Summers spent tasting popsicles during the muggy air of the sunset while having burnt shoulders from the pool. Maple seeds in the fall cover the patio in a camo of helicopters while sitting around a smokefilled fire. Frost on the grass keeps our breaths chill in the winter air, yet spring is the best. Flowers that are warmed by the sun and create nature’s perfume that feels like a lullaby on the skin. Mud puddles on the ground forces my family to thoroughly clean our dogs’ paws. The birds in the summer that call for mates, when the cicadas trill in the humidity, or when the hummingbirds drink from the lilies and nectar pots.
My mother’s love for birds knows no bounds. We have four bird feeders, and she cares for every single one. Any cardinal, bluejay or finch will be appreciated by my mother. The backyard is mother’s sanctuary from the real world, and I see it every time she asks me to swing alongside her. She has worked hard for this sliver of earth that holds my sister’s and I’s childhood.
God, do I love our backyard.
I love our backyard and I love watching it change alongside my family.
Our backyard that smells like the definition of spring with a sprinkle of childhood nostalgia that in time, will eventually erode along with the lilacs.