Two Years Onward

Hibiscus with yellow flowers. The red of bottlebrush. The orange of honeysuckle. The white and yellow colors of jasmines. The purple of bougainvillea. The bluebells. A trio of snapdragon colors; yellow, purple, pink. The forever greens of evergreens. The bright deep pink of cactus flowers. Cannas with more pink and yellow flowers. The variegated tints of false bamboo and crotons.

These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.

It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.

A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.

The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.

The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.

With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.

Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.

What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?

What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.

So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.

Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.

Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!