07/15/2007

The View from Sunnybank

Dubious, dangerous and delightful drop-ins

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

One summer day I looked up from my meal to find a well-dressed older couple inspecting the elephant ears (Colocasia) near the back alley gate, while hanging on to a huge golden Lab eager to explore.

The kitchen windows were open to enjoy garden scents while I ate; the brightly ribboned garden bell was impossible to miss. Yet, somehow, bypassing the polite "No Dogs Please” sign, they'd entered soundlessly and were now deep into the garden. Distressed, I ran out and asked them to remove their pet immediately. Flustered, denying they'd seen the signs, the couple assured me that Fido "had already done his business,” but any male dog worth his salt will always have a reserve in his tank.

Dogs can decimate a garden. Their urine burns yellow holes in lawns and scalds flowers. Two years ago a big two-toned Husky, wearing a collar but attached to nobody, sneaked in, galloped through the beds, chased the sleepy neighborhood cat, leaped for a panicked squirrel and snapped at me when I tried to corral him. He finally trotted out the alley gate, but not before flattening lots of flowers.

Speaking of invasions, one hot July afternoon a few years ago I came into the kitchen for a cooling drink after chopping huge roots partially exposed when the enormous, elderly backyard maple finally had to be felled. Suddenly, I heard crashing and banging coming from the second floor! Puzzled, then alarmed, I dashed up the back stairs and down the hall to find a tall, rangy, casually dressed man in his mid-to-late 20s tearing through the master bedroom, trying to dismantle it.

Dresser drawers had been pulled out and emptied; framed pictures littered the carpet. Shouting for his wife to "Come out, by God!” he shimmied under the bed on his back, hunting her. I was stupefied with amazement, and then had the sense to be afraid, for now, glaring at me from beneath the bed skirt, he shouted that I'd better not be hiding her. Gasping and swearing, he tried to heave up the heavy mattresses, yelling, "I'm buried alive!” and, "Where IS she!?”

No fool, I snatched up the bedside phone and called police. They arrived (after what seemed forever, but which was probably no more than three minutes), rushed up to the bedroom, pulled him from the bed's nether region, and ushered him, indignant and still accusatory, down the main stairs and out the front door. While evaluated in the ER for possibly being under the influence of hallucinogens, he continued to demand his wife be collected from "that white house.”

Apparently he'd fallen deeply asleep in the squad car on the way to the hospital. What if he had decided to snooze under my bed, until evening?

Backyard gardeners, lock your front door.

Last summer, another alien visitor suddenly appeared, landing gracefully on the main fountain's rim. It was a simply enormous raven. He pondered me quietly for a long time, then, deciding, he called out in a low, croaky voice; two more ebony giants joined him. I stood absolutely still, enchanted, recalling Poe's immortal poem, "The Raven,” while they drank and exchanged comments, studying me. My skin prickled.

An evening storm was rapidly approaching; the original bird turned a red eye toward his fellows and croaked another command. Tossing me a final glance, they unfolded huge, jet-black wings, rose, and, with dark, roiling clouds lending an air of mystery,

"…Left me for the Night's Plutonian shore,”

Left "no black plume,” on fountain floor-

Alas! I beheld them

Nevermore.

Dee Blair's private Traverse City secret garden at Sunnybank (325 Sixth Street) is often open to visitors daily from around 9 a.m. to around early evening, with extended hours possible by appointment. It's best to check the sign to be sure, or if planning a group visit, call ahead (231-929-4351) to avoid disappointment. She can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at blogs.record-eagle.com.