A Landscape Plan

I sat back and rubbed my eyes. It was going on noon, and I had been working on the landscape plan for a couple of hours.

This plan was for an older lady that had definite ideas about what she wanted, and that was usually something different than what I wanted. I was currently on my third revision.

I had taken the project on as a favor to a friend. "My mother could really use some help on her yard," she said, "All mother does is sit around that house and complain about how all her plants are dying."

She had neglected to mention that her mother, Mrs. Ida Pendleton, was a control freak that needed something, and someone, to complain about. She lived alone in her big, grand house, and had spent her life as the busy wife of a high-powered Houston lawyer. Getting her way was just a part of life.

Mrs. Ida lived down the end of her own private road. It was beautiful, peaceful, but dark. Tall Post Oak trees blanketed the yard with shade, and giant, overgrown shrubs encircled the house, planted as a hedge many moons ago, and left untended to now tower above the windows.

I wanted to get some light in the yard and take out the water-guzzling plants, but to Mrs. Ida, the word "native" meant "weed". I keep telling myself that I'm getting paid for it - a LOT, so chill out.

I decided that with this latest revision I would recommend mostly cleaning up and sculpting what was currently planted. Once we got the yard under control, I would start working with her on adding new things, or taking away old things. An old woman set in her ways did not want to deal with the large amount of change I was proposing, so slowing down should hopefully help.

The left side of the house, which sloped down to a dry creekbed, needed the most attention. The original plantings had been overtaken by native yaupon, beautyberry, and poison ivy. Mustang grape vines covered some of the older yaupons, which stood close to fifteen feet tall. It had been a long time since that part of the yard had felt human hands.

The place gave me the willies. Driving up on the old Victorian house that first day, my eye was immediatly drawn to that left side. It sucked the light down into it, giving the area a mysterious, elusive quality. Shadows hung there even during the sunniest part of the day. They seemed to float around the porch as if looking for an entrance into the house.

I had parked and stepped out onto the caliche drive. It was then that I saw Mrs. Ida standing on the front porch, in the midst of the shadows. She maintained the countenance of a rich, Texas wife. She held her thin frame ramrod straight, with her gray hair pulled back in a low bun. She exuded a "don't mess with me, I'm the boss" attitude from the get-go.

She walked down the steps to greet me. The shadows seemed to follow for a short time, their feathery edges finally breaking away as Mrs. Ida walked into the sun.

I had shaken her hand. It was papery thin and cold, but the grip was iron hard. Thinking back on it, I rubbed my hands together. Ever since that day, I felt as if some of those shadows had followed me home.

I got up to get a glass of tea. My cell phone started singing "Super Freak". It was my sister.