I’m sure I’ve mentioned the view through my window over the kitchen sink.
It’s my neighbor’s yard and it’s gorgeous.
Lush greenery, vibrant flowerbeds, a pond with a waterfall, a variety of bird feeders and hand-laid garden paths.
And berms. (I didn’t know what a berm was until I moved here.)
It’s a LOT of work. Some days I feel bad admiring their dedication, as they’re dedicating, knowing that I maybe pull ten weeds a season. But hey, if I’m admiring I’m probably washing dishes, so that’s good, right?
They spend a LOT of time out there working. It brings a smile to my face to see them entertaining, showing off to friends, family and neighbors. And especially to see them relaxing at the table beneath the shady tree enjoying a conversation and glass of wine.
I don’t enjoy yard work. I don’t get the appeal.
It’s like housework– there’s always a new “mess”, only worse, you get dirty doing it.
Pulling weeds and trimming new growth is job security, that’s for sure.
I like grass, grass is good.
As long as someone else mows. (I’ll save my fear of losing a digit to the lawn mower for my Foe Be Us publication.)
I could see where you might think that the title refers to yard work, but no, not today.
The impetus for this blog is not really my gorgeous view, but the mallard couple currently residing in the neighbor’s yard.
Or trying, anyway.
I love ducks.
Outings to ponds, rivers, and lagoons to feed the ducks are some of my fondest memories from growing up. I did it with my mom, I did it with my kids. I used to save the ends of the bread loaf and collect them in the freezer specifically for duck feeding. It’d still be one of my favorite past times, but there are no ducks anymore. Stupid protected Canada geese are everywhere, crapping on the paths and hissing as you pass. I refuse to feed you, bird.
When I first saw the ducks through my kitchen window, I was so happy! How cool would that be if they nested here for the spring? Hatched little duckling babies! Aw.
I was ecstatic upon repeat sightings. Maybe they really were hanging around.
I know the neighbors have had frogs and turtles in their pond, maybe ducks were this year’s animal accent.
But then I saw the neighbor man aggressively shooing the lady duck with the long handled pond net.
No duck family for me.
One man’s like is another man’s dis.