by Faye Westlake Newman

Created on: August 12, 2009   Last Updated: October 26, 2009

My Great, True, Personal Garden Story

My nice mobile home in a nice little family park had two things I truly appreciated: a kitty door, so I didn't have to let cats in and out all day; and a large yard, front and back, with a garden shed for tools.

I was alone, and had a few physical limitations, so I was particularly disturbed by what Robert, the park manager, said, less than a week after I moved in.

"According to park rules, your house has to have gutters and downspouts, and your yard needs to be properly landscaped. You have to get rid of all the weeds and repair that lawn. I'll give you 30 days."

"And then what?" I asked.

"Well. I'll start writing you up, and then if you don't do it, you'll have to move out of the park."

"This is how it was when I moved in. Why didn't you enforce the rules before?"

"They're gone, aren't they?" He wasn't a friendly soul.

I sighed. Three months ago, my physical activity would have been limited to light housework and therapy. This was eight months after I suffered a major, debilitating stroke and two months after I split from my husband of 38 years. I'd lost my health, my home, my horse, my dog, and my marriage, virtually overnight. A dog had killed my kitten. I was in no shape for major yard work, physically or emotionally. All I wanted was sit and veg for awhile.

I'd already fought with management in an effort to keep my dog. No dog over 26 pounds was the rule. My blue heeler weighed 28 pounds, and Robert labeled her vicious the moment he laid eyes on her. When he later shoved his way into my home to order me to get rid of her, she proved it. Nobody was about to threaten Cody's owner! It took all my resources to get her into the bathroom so I could plead with him to let me keep her.

I had lost that fight, and I guessed I'd lose the garden battle, too. I was too depressed to care, but I knew I had no choice.

The next morning, I limped outside and surveyed the chore.

There were no gutters, but I knew how to fix that. I just had to decide how to pay for it on my disability income. A couple of phone calls revealed that it would cost less than expected, but it would be a couple of weeks before they could get to it.

My backyard, flat and unadorned, ended at a sharp drop in the rear, and a climb up a similar bank to my neighbor's yard on the right. On the left, a concrete driveway ended in a decrepit carport, with a shed at the rear. The sparse, yellow grass, sans topsoil, supported so many dandelions I'd have

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