Backyard Read Online Free PDF Page B

was on the previous Tuesday that the Fremonts had finally spotted the Mikkelsons. They were strolling confidently down the street, shyly waving at them, but continuing on their way, despite the Fremonts’ beckoning gestures. It was as Deanne displayed her full profile to them that the Fremonts saw why the Mikkelsons would be avoiding them for a while: she was very visibly pregnant.
    The backyard that worked such delightful sorcery on its visitors didn’t feature anything particularly fancy or exotic. Nan and George had mostly planted an array of flowers, bushes, vines, and grasses that would be familiar to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of gardening. It was all in the arrangement, the scope of the project, and the health and vigor of all that grew there.
    Hostas of four different varieties filled many of the shady places. The split-rail fence that divided the backyard into two roughly even parts was almost hidden on the south side by pink hydrangeas. There were four bleeding hearts and an equal number of jack-in-the-pulpits. Next to the six-foot wood fence that separated them from the Grunions’ backyard rose variegated dogwoods, two burning bushes that exploded in scarlet in the fall, and five lilac bushes that were now eight feet high. Nan had to keep a careful eye on George, who had an itch to perform major plant surgery just to show that his circa 1920-model pruning shears could still do good service.
    â€œNo hacking away at the lilacs, you ninny, or else they won’t come back for years,” she would scold him, but every year he’d dig out those old shears. He’d scrape off the rust, sharpen the blades, and approach the lilacs, snicker-snacking away, only to be turned back by Nan, who would have to interpose herself between him and his intended victims.
    A flagstone path led to the north edge of the property, divided from the Fletchers’ place by a strip of woods. It ended in an arbor where the flagstones were set in a large rectangle surrounded by paper birches, crab apples, and rabbit-nibbled and stunted alpine currants. A simple wooden bench had been set for those contemplative moments that would occasionally arise. Steps fashioned out of pressure-treated-pine railroad ties and pea gravel rose from the driveway to the tetragonal cement patio. The patio, furnished with its glass-topped table, L-shaped bench, four chairs, and outdoor grill, was the heart of the backyard.
    Impatiens, alyssum, petunias, phlox, and two varieties of ornamental grasses bordered the steps. Two small arbors with big, arched trellises jutted out from the edge of the patio, where there was ample midday sunlight. As June advanced, climbing rosebushes would any day now smother them in red, yellow, and pink.
    On the other side of the patio, where the light was less direct, there was another latticework trellis, also painted white, and covered in the clinging vines of violet-flowering clematis. Two bridal wreath spirea bushes flourished in another one of the spots where sunlight fell unchecked by any obstruction. Then, there were the angel’s trumpets, fragrantly seductive, yet appalling to George, who continually fretted over their reputations as deadly hallucinogens.
    Other flower beds sprouted more impatiens and alyssum, as well as purple coneflowers, monarda, and assorted irises and lilies. There were additional flowers, planted in accordance with the advice of the numerous texts, magazines, flyers, and Internet postings George and Nan had consulted over the years as their backyard gardens expanded. Even now, they had trouble remembering the names of some of them.
    Sprinkled throughout were late-blossoming mums and sedum to ensure the backyard’s liveliness as high summer began to drift toward autumn. The idea was that something would be flowering in the backyard at all times—May through August, and sometimes even September. As the season moved toward the middle of June, the first wave of blooms