Creative Refuse

This morning I awoke to yet another huge pit in my backyard courtesy of my 2yr old Pitbull-ridgeback mix, Libby. I've spent the last two years, since Melanie and I bought this house, transforming our backyard from a literal trash heap -- filled with sparkplugs, old juice boxes, decomposing diapers, and a carpenters warehouse worth of old nails, into our little Oakland Oasis. The previous owners of this house literally didn't pay the trash bills. They simply opened the back door, stepped onto the back porch, hucked huge trash bags full of refuse onto the .5 acre square of grass below and padded back inside, comforted by the warm feeling of a job well done. This unique take on urban refuse collection quite unexpectedly led me to one of my passions. The need to turn this trash heap into an oasis led me to try my hand at gardening.
This activity, forever associated with being shook awake at 7am on Saturdays by my Father saying,"Time for yard work!", was one of dread and abject horror for me as child. Pruning through thick desert plants filled with thorns, bugs, and scorpions did nothing to help the situation. However, now that It's my yard, it's completely different. I love it. Everything from tilling huge swaths of grass to planting delicate purple annuals, is what I look forward to on the weekends. Berkeley Horticulture and Super PayLess are my new hang outs. Happiness is dirt caked hands and jeans. It's funny how your tastes change as you grow. Things once hated are loved and things once loved are a distant memory. I never thought I had a green thumb -- in college I managed to kill an air fern (no watering needed) -- but it turns out I've got a knack for it. I might never had tried it had those previous owners not resorted to such an unthinkable a waste management scheme and thanks to my dog I always have maintenance to do. I don't condone leaving a dump in one's wake but I do appreciate having been left a palette rough enough to wake a new passion.