A Home Within A Home

In the mid-to-late 1990s the northeast side of Petaluma, once a large sum of farmland consisting of countless chicken coops and cattle farms, made a revolutionary transition from quiet, peaceful farmland to a young, bustling suburb that would bring many new families to the affable town of Petaluma. However, this explosion of development on the eastside of Petaluma was done as quickly, efficiently, and cheaply as possible, leaving the once productive land with a sprawling area of small streets lined with eerily similar houses. This new neighborhood had a lack of personality with about five different models of houses all painted the same beige with white trim, akin to what Malvina Reynolds describes in her song “Little Boxes”, which condemns the suburban houses in the Oakland hills, as well as those who bought those little boxes. Among the similarities each house had, like the color, the appliances, the carpet, each has also had one other common detail: an unfinished mud pit for a backyard.

We moved into our newly constructed house in February 1998, and thirteen years later I still remember looking through the sliding glass doors in my kitchen and seeing a seemingly endless expanses of saturated mud that had no life present. Even my old yellow cocker spaniel refused to use the sad excuse for a backyard. At the end of the drab expanse was an ugly, white, stucco, soundproof wall for a fence that guarded our house from the newly paved roadway that lay behind my house. On the north and south side of my yard was a traditional, inoffensive brown synthetic wood fence. Under the dreary gray February sky, the soulless yard resembled a deserted battlefield, yet it was a place where life would be soon prospering.

Fast-forward one short year, and the once vast lifeless landscape of mud now began to quickly gather memories that are still with me today. Fresh, plush, verdant – the freshly planted sod welcomed my siblings and me to play rugby against my dad. From the newly paved stone patio out of the sliding glass doors I looked to my left and see the bark area with my prized play structure there, with its yellow slide and two swings attached to it. In a quadrant where the terracotta and cement patio meet the grass, there were decorative rocks that surrounded the recently planted pear tree, which stood in the ground, diminutive and twig-like compared to the same pear tree that stands there today. Dotting the perimeter of my backyard in the bark area around two yards from the fence were freshly potted plants, just as they had come from the gardening area of Home Depot or Yardbirds. The miniscule plants tried to hide the heinous white fence at the back of our yard, and at the time the plants looked like a person attempting to hide a car behind their back. The plants seemed to be an afterthought, but eventually the plants would mature and fulfill their purpose in hiding the great white wall. The aroma of lavender, rosemary, and society garlic captivated my new black and white Cocker Spaniel, the only dog I have owned for its entire life, whose nose carried him all over the new garden full of juvenile plants.

Today, my backyard is a much more mature version of my backyard twelve years ago. It transformed from a barren mud pit to a beautiful retreat that bears countless memories of my childhood. Now, instead of the play structure of my child years, a pool with an attached hottub now stands in it place, still giving me a place to play. Built nine years ago, the pool is beginning to show its age: while it still has a crystal clear, beautiful white plaster bottom, the flagstone around the side of the pool is beginning to weather away, along with the tile on the inside border of the pool that is beginning to chip off. Beyond my pool, in the far left corner of the yard, amidst the now massive shrubbery of big green bushes, is what we call the pet cemetery. Over the past thirteen years of living in that house, we have attained quite the collection of animals in our pet cemetery, from two dogs to two cats to two rabbits to a snake to a bird to a frog to countless fish. Beneath the seemingly monotonous bushes placed around the pool lay countless memories hidden under the dirt in the graves of my animals. The perimeter of my backyard no longer contains the puny shrubbery, but instead is full of healthy, full-grown bushes, plants, and many other garden items. Above my terracotta patio, attached to my house is a terrace that stood bare for many years, and just recently began to be shaded by wisteria that have been slowly growing up the posts for several years now. The pear tree that stands in the quadrant separating the patio from the lawn is now towering above my parents’ second story window, dominating my backyard. In the far right corner of the lawn there is a flagstone patio put down by my own hands, looking rustic and classic, with a decorative yet cozy bench on top of it. On the patio to the right of my glass doors provide a feeling of comfort, as though it is an outdoor living room. Along the right fence of my yard are roses that bloom in summer filling in the space that is bare during winter, giving more live to the already vibrant garden, providing extra privacy from the neighbors.

Having a backyard full of character in a neighborhood that seemingly lacks character is crucial to the experience of growing up. My backyard could easily be a simple plot of grass for the pets to use as a bathroom, like many of my neighbors, but instead, I am lucky enough to have an oasis for a backyard.

-Mark