A MAGICAL PLACE

Dear Spike:

I'd like to claw my eyes out. It feels as if someone sprayed battery acid up my nose. And even the insides of my ears hurt. When you've got allergies like mine, Spring yard work comes with some pretty nasty consequences.

But it's a jungle out there. I'm losing the battle of the seven-foot weeds. And we've got a bunch of people coming over this Saturday for a barbecue.

So I wrapped my face in a red bandana, picked up the weed whacker and went at it. Three hours later I stood on our back porch and admired my handywork.

OK, it still looks like a jungle — but a kinder, gentler jungle.

And when the weeds are hacked down and the garden is in bloom and the grapes vines are flush with leaves, as they are now...

... and when the peonies are in blossom and the roses are budding and the lilac is flush ...

... I can see the promise in this place — the vision I saw when your mother and I entered into our Faustian bargain with the bank to purchase this home, nearly four years ago.

This is going to be a special place for you — I know this to be true — just as my family's big, big backyard was a magical place for me.

True, we don't have the same kind of space for baseball and soccer and volleyball and badminton that my parents had in their backyard. And we don't have acres and acres and acres of forest, like your mother's parents did in their backyard.

But we'll have berries and grapes and a garden rich with tomatoes and squash and peppers — all for your delight. We'll have chickens for you to check on, every day, to see if they've left an egg or two. We'll have giant rose bushes and sunflower gardens and little hidden spaces for you to go and make friends with the faeries. We'll have stepping stones — and maybe a little fountain — and bird feeders scattered about the yard.

And if it take a few runny noses and itchy eyes to get there, that's OK.

It's gonna be a magical place. I promise.

Love,
dad