Steve flattened our backyard, which had once had a slope and dipped in the middle. Then he put down a layer of compost, rich black earth on top of clay. Then he put down $200 worth of grass seed. I can’t believe it cost that much — we just traveled through miles of grass in Ohio, and some of those people didn’t look like they had that much money. We’ve been keeping the dogs off of it, taking them on leashes to the boulevard to go to the bathroom, and taking them down to their friend’s house to play in her backyard.

We woke up the other morning and Steve pointed out the window to what I was sure was just reflection from the trees above, or maybe pollen that had settled. But it was the beginnings of grass. After two weeks of dirt, where it looked like nothing would happen, it was happening. By the end of the day the grass must have grown a half an inch. Growth works that way, in spurts. At first the grass was just thinking of growing, and then in one swoop it all sprouted. It makes me think about this difficult time, how I’ve been hibernating after four years of graduate school and two years of infertility hell. Even grass does that, just thinks for a little bit, then zoom. Same with the embryo, which has to collect all its parts, read through its data on microscopic levels, and then out sprouts two legs from a seed, then two arms, all these parts that were germinating, meditating on their cells invisibly.

May 27th, 2009 | Category: house | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL