Perfectly Imperfect
It’s almost 6 a.m., and I’m standing on the back deck in my pj’s, watching the ducks pull worms from the saturated ground. They like to do this in the back pasture where the donkeys have rolled, creating big patches of dirt—or in this case, mud.
When you live with a variety of animals, you can forget about having a perfect yard. Besides killing the grass with their rolling, the donkeys have stripped the bark off an apple tree and others, killing them. Near the gate, where the flock waits daily either to be let into the yard or to tell me they’d like their afternoon snack, it’s all bare earth. Louisa and the goats contribute by leaving their signature poop in the yard. Watching friends and family over the years maneuver gingerly through my backyard, I’ve imagined that’s how soldiers look as they search for land mines. No one wants to step in poo!
Even my beautiful, once-new wrap-around deck, where I like to drink my morning coffee and watch the birds, is wrecked. All the rails on the steps leading down to the backyard and basement door are shredded. The cats use it as a runway, a scratching post, and their personal salon for filing their nails.
The full basement, which I’m grateful for every day, houses the feed for all these critters with whom I share my home. But that also means juice from over-ripe melons leaks out from boxes onto the floor, and cracked corn gathers in all the corners after Louisa sneaks in and tears open a bag of it. There used to also be raccoon poop, but since I duct-taped the doggy door closed, that issue has been resolved.
Two summers ago, when Hans and Vincent joined our family, I thought I’d lose my mind. The deck—the one place I could safely grow flowers and succulents—became a three-way war zone for the new goats, Ruben, and me! The goats would climb up on the deck, eat some flowers, poop, and then nudge the plant pot off the railing, causing it to shatter below. Ruben would initiate a chase around the deck and eventually down the stairs at breathtaking speeds, making me fear he or a goat would break a leg. I lost eight ceramic pots that summer, not to mention all the yellow begonias that hung from hooks on my front porch.
Finally, I found that spraying the goats with the hose put an end to all that. But then they started rubbing against the screened-in porch until they busted the screen, and Dane had to nail up boards to keep them from causing further damage.
Last night, the sky released an abundance of rain in a short time, causing the creek here to swell and overflow its banks. I hurried down and called the flock in, worried they’d get swept away.
All went well until one goose got spooked and, instead of coming in with the rest, became stranded on the wrong side of the torrent. It could have been a sleepless night, but it became a happy scene when I was able to coax her back across the rushing water and safely locked her in with the rest of the flock.
Afterward, I checked on Louisa and the goats, who were all huddled together in their house. I put more hay out for the donkeys, as far from the creek as I could, so they’d be safe. And with Dane’s help, I took 28 potted flowers and succulents off the deck rail and stored them under the eaves, where the deluge couldn’t damage them.
Later, in bed, going over my gratitude list, I first thought about the rain and the swollen creek. There was sure to be debris to clean up the next morning and a fence to repair. I thought about the yard and the inevitable mud, and how my rubber work boots would get stuck in it, and how I’d likely lose my balance and have to fight with the ground to regain my footing. I pictured the rain blowing sideways under the deck roof and the flowers being sucked out of their pots. And I worried about doing chores in the morning, navigating a slick deck and a slippery ramp leading into the snake shed and Duck Hall.
Then I said, Thank you. After all, this life, complete with all the outbuildings and animals, a creek, a beautiful wrap-around deck (despite all its damage), and my loving relationship with Dane, is everything I’d dreamed of. It’s the life I wanted, worked for, and created. It’s not perfect, nor am I, nor is Dane, and certainly not my home or yard, but it’s all perfect for me.
