Outside

Try as we may it is hard to connect with nature in Chicago. I think we do a good job with our postage stamp size backyard. It’s been a work in progress since we moved in over twenty years ago. At first I did not have much to do with it. Charlotte and my stalwart parents went at it.

It was full of nuts, bolts and other sundry metal from the previous owner’s delinquent children. There was no garage and so, nothing to stop them from driving wreaked cars right up on the back lawn. Oh, what would Lady Bird Johnson have thought?

The first thing to do was build a garage. It was Charlotte’s idea and she took complete responsibility for it. Calls were put into various contractors. One by one they came to the house with estimates. As I was prone to come home late from work, I’d invariably walk in on the discussion between the sales person and Charlotte. To a man, and they were all men, they would stop talking to her and knowingly address me. I would try to wave them off without success and as they walked out the front door another builder would get checked off the list.

This scene replayed itself for quite some time until one enlightened soul paid me no mind correctly deducing where the power lie. The contract was signed and the garage a reality in two weeks. It was amazing what one carpenter and his lackey could do in a day.

Now backyard restoration began. My father dug while my mother picked thousands of weeds by hand; and Charlotte along with much grunt work, acted the consulting landscape architect. Annuals, perennials, trees and a fence all appeared. Once my parents departed this world I took over many of their tasks but did none as well. They should have been farmers.

As we prepared the garden this year for another absent summer we were both surprised at how well-tended it looked. It’s a shame to leave, but we did, and have not looked back. You see on the boat we are really outside. Of course we are not in the wilderness. That is except when in the middle of the lake or at anchor in one of Canada’s deep coves.

Our boat, while modest in some respects, is a beautiful space to spend time in. There’s not much between the outside and us. The walls are thin. There is plenty of glass, and the waves rock and roll it. It is hard to keep the outside out. We fight to prevent the plague of insects from sharing our inside space. It is all these things, but really it is a passport to clean air, azure blue skies and quiet.