Walking in the Village

When I stepped out of the apartment building onto the walkway, I could tell it was a day attended by small details, for immediately I found fifteen cents. Not a dime and a nickel, which doesn't make sense in itself, but I gathered a dime and five pennies scattered between two of the yellow lines that divide up the parking spaces.

I can only imagine that someone was cleaning out their car and threw the small change out amid other scattered debris, made up of junk you would find under a car seat. Well, maybe some people's car seats. I am not telling you what's under mine. Oh sure I will. A compass. A box of candy cigarettes for when I want to look hard. Any species of rubber animal that has fallen off the dash. Garden clippers. I carry my pick axe in the trunk. It looks like a very slow murder weapon...CLUNK!! Aiee! Pull it out (sklorp) and CLUNK!! Aiee!! (sklorp) CLUNK!!! Awkward, slipshod, and as Hook would say, shows "Poor form."

You could only accuse me of being a gravedigger, for the organic material at the end of the blade is dirt. Simply dirt. I use it to unseat rough clods in Dad's backyard, an ongoing process when planting.

Anyway, this day started with the small find of money, which always makes me happy. I was meeting a friend for lunch at a deli that had outside tables. We sat and tossed chunks of grilled bread to sparrows that knew how to work it, cheep cheep hop hop closer closer. One landed atop the ubiquitous plastic chair next to me and fluffed its feathers. Like I said, working it.

We sat and talked and watched a parade of dog breeds trot by, the trend being towards the smaller canine collectible. Many, oh, what are those things called, the tiny tiny---Oh! Yorkshire terriers, a Maltese, Jack Russells (god knows why), a Wheaten terrier, and several mutts. We graduated up to Rottweilers, a brown poodle, and an immense gargantuan that looked like a mix between a Lab and a Mini Cooper. Gentle as anything. I dearly love cats, but I miss the dog terribly. She was my girl.

It had been a while since meeting this particular friend, and we had catching up to do. She is exotic in appearance, a scientist by trade. We started as neighbors many apartments ago, and have continued the friendship, she means the world to me. She brought me soap nuts, and I gave her agave syrup, a low glycemic sweetener. Great minds think alike.

We then walked up one side of the street and found a young man holding a crayon colored placard that said "FREE HUGS", accompanied by another male companion. College students? Frottage amateurs? No, not today or ever, thank you. They kept walking and we later saw them continuing on back a few hours later, so apparently no arrests were made. A new shop had opened, selling dresses for skinny minnies at--get this---$325 a pop for a frock. It wasn't even a whole dress, it was a summer amusement covered in a sand dollar pattern. On a rack, jammed in with other tiny merriments also blindly overpriced. The lights weren't on inside the shop, and she won't be able to pay the electric bill any sooner with intentions like that. Honest to goodness, Buffalo is a college town more than anything. Our eyes are popping at gas station charges and the cost of food; you think we are going to shuck out that kind of money for a dress that you could get for $20 on a NYC street corner?

My friend and I staggered out gasping for air after reading the tags, we's simple folks, and congratulated each other on our thrift and smart spending habits for five minutes after. Up the street a bit was a stucco storefront with an "opening soon" sign in the window, and this is the enchanting part of the day. Around the side was a sidewalk leading to a back yard we had not ever noticed before. I led the way to seeing if it was a private yard or a rental unit. Rental, so I felt safer looking around.

There on the back sidewalk was a juvenile robin, spots still on his chest, gorging on fruit that had fallen from a sour cherry tree that must be six years older than Yehwoo. A parent robin sat in the branches, happy as a Friday. In the window next to this property slept a white cat, head tucked under but one ear alert and turning like a dish satellite. It was cool, secluded, and rich with natural bounty. Peaceful. I remembered the fruit trees my grandparents had planted in their yard, and guessed that perhaps many more city backyards than we know have them planted.

Grandpa had a Stanley plum, a peach, and a sweet cherry in the yard along with a bower of green grapes. I wonder if planting food sources won't become expected, practical, necessary. The robins vote in favor, as do I. My friend and I were reluctant to go back to the busy strip, but no one issued any invitations so we left.

Think of a tree for yourself, your own tree whose branches will produce fruit with some care, nothing unusual. You will have blossoms in spring, shade in summer, and pie in autumn. Enough to share and sustain. Plant a tree in your subconscious, feel its roots put down and the limbs raise to the sun, lean into the wind, provide nesting places for birds and feed bees. Take this tree with you tonight as you lay in bed, and let its peace hold you safe until morning when you wake, refreshed.