小小庭院：我的獨(dú)家記憶

ByAlicia++阿諾

Brooklyn brownstone1） houses are not known for their breathtaking gardens， at least not in my old neighborhood. I grew up on a street whose idea of nature extended to the weeds overrunning2） the yards， rotting oak trees along the curb3） and looping， faded vines growing on buildings. The backyards were wild and neglected.

However， there was a place where a few elements of nature secretly entered our urban existence. My backyard was beautiful in a scattered， careless sort of way. Some of my earliest memories include picking my grandmother's beloved tulips and bringing them to my first-grade teacher， ensuring my place as teacher's pet. I remember my brief obsession with marigolds4） in second grade， when my dad bought dozens of packets of seeds. We spent a day planting and then promptly forgot about them. When the yard burst out in scattered patches5） of orange and yellow， we proclaimed it a miracle.

There were more miracles in that strange excuse6） for a garden. My father came home once with two peach trees； he gave one to the family next door and planted the other in a deserted corner of our yard. He threw dirt on it and forgot about it， like the marigolds. The following spring， we got perfect peaches. My mother made peach sorbet7） and shared it with our neighbors.

Our yard was one of the few that had grass. Most of the houses on our block had dug up their straggly8） lawns and poured concrete9）. Other yards had basketball hoops and small plastic pools， some with plots10） of soil， but we had a large， square plot of unruly11） grass that was impossible to maintain. The grass gave our yard a jungle-like quality， often growing taller than my sister and me and as wild and untamed12） as my curly hair. Sometimes， I would throw toys carelessly out there and send my more adventurous sister after them. She would emerge scratched13） and dirty but triumphant14）. I found it impossible to get within two feet of that grass because of my fear of snakes. But I liked to watch the tall blades15） shake and rattle16） as my sister fought her way through. I could imagine her as an explorer or a hunter， someone on a dangerous journey or epic17） quest. I liked epic quests.

I loved the smell of that grass whenever my father got the urge18） to cut it. Most of the time， I resented19） it， because I wanted to have one of those yards with a pool or a basketball hoop. I wanted concrete. But whenever Dad got the weed whacker20） out and attacked that monster with the violence of a grizzly bear21）， I always felt like the luckiest girl on the block， just because of that smell. Concrete doesn't smell fresh like spring. Concrete doesn't really have a smell.

We kept the grass cut for a long time when my dad brought home a pool22） table （who knows where he got it） and tossed it out there like the peach tree. It acted like a magnet for our family， drawing us into the yard whenever the weather allowed. Suddenly， the yard was a rec room23）. Our friends always wanted to come over to play， even if some were not tall enough to see over the table， and none of us really knew how to play.

We had barbecues when Dad's friends came over to play pool. We put torches24） and lanterns up around the porch and nearly set it on fire one night. We suddenly became "yard people"， a concept that had been foreign to us most of our lives.

My mother grew tomatoes and cucumbers that year， and the peaches came in great as always. I went through a purple phase and insisted on azaleas25） and morning glories26）， and even as improbable as it was， everything grew. It was more than just a miracle. It felt like the pool table was some kind of green thumb27）. In my head， it goes together， the bright green velvet of the table against the colorful backdrop28） of that implausible29） landscape.

Then fall came， and then the frost， so gardens died. By the time spring came， we were preparing to move to an apartment， and we had no time to be yard people. We knew the new owners would dig up everything and pour in concrete. There was a courtyard in our new apartment building with fairly well-managed shrubs and flowers and an abandoned tennis court， but it wasn't the same as having our own yard.

I'm not the type of person who wishes for the typical American dream： a house， a dog and a white picket fence30）. I'm much more of a cat person， and I'm okay with old trees and straggly weeds. But it's a secret wish of mine to have a garden someday that I can tend with someone who is special to me.

When I see a marigold， I smile and think of my dad and those happy times. I want a new yard someday in a new wasteland， wild and imperfect ...

布魯克林的褐砂石住宅并不以美得驚人的花園而著稱，至少在我過(guò)去生活的街區(qū)是這樣的。在我長(zhǎng)大的那條街上，人們對(duì)于自然的概念延伸到了庭院中蔓生的雜草、路沿兩旁長(zhǎng)著的朽敗的橡樹(shù)以及攀爬于建筑物表面那一圈圈衰敗的藤蔓。居民的后院里都是一片荒蕪，無(wú)人打理。

不過(guò)，還是有這樣一個(gè)地方，悄悄地為我們的城市生活增添了些許自然的元素。我家后院的植株長(zhǎng)得疏疏落落的，有一種漫不經(jīng)心的美。在我最初的記憶中，我曾摘下祖母心愛(ài)的郁金香，將其獻(xiàn)給一年級(jí)的老師，以鞏固我作為老師寵愛(ài)的學(xué)生的地位。我記得自己在二年級(jí)時(shí)曾短暫地迷戀上了萬(wàn)壽菊，那時(shí)爸爸買(mǎi)了許多袋裝的花種，我們花了一天的時(shí)間把種子種下去，之后卻很快就將它們忘在了腦后。當(dāng)花園里突然冒出一小塊一小塊稀稀落落的橘色和黃色時(shí)，我們贊嘆這是個(gè)奇跡。

在這個(gè)不同尋常的花園里發(fā)生的奇跡還不止這一樁。有一次，爸爸帶了兩棵桃樹(shù)回家，一棵送給了隔壁那家人，另一棵就種在了我家院子一個(gè)荒僻的角落里。像上次種萬(wàn)壽菊一樣，他給桃樹(shù)覆了點(diǎn)兒土，就把它給忘了。第二年春天，我們收獲了很不錯(cuò)的桃子。媽媽做了蜜桃雪葩，還與鄰居們一同分享。

我家的院子是為數(shù)不多的有草的院子之一。我們那條街上的大部分人家都把自家雜草叢生的草坪鏟掉，鋪上了混凝土。另一些人家在院子里安裝了籃筐和塑料小泳池，有的院子還保留著幾小塊土地。而我家的院子則是四四方方的一大片土地，雜草叢生，無(wú)法打理。這些草常常長(zhǎng)得比我和妹妹還要高，而且像我的卷發(fā)一樣狂野不羈，為我們的院子平添了幾分叢林的感覺(jué)。有時(shí)，我會(huì)不經(jīng)意把玩具扔到草叢里，然后派我那更富有冒險(xiǎn)精神的妹妹去把它們找回來(lái)。她從草叢里出來(lái)時(shí)總會(huì)有地方被劃傷，渾身臟兮兮的，不過(guò)卻是一臉的得意洋洋。我因?yàn)榕律?，覺(jué)得自己連靠近離草叢兩英尺的范圍之內(nèi)都不可能。但是我喜歡看著那些高高的葉片隨著妹妹在草叢中奮力穿行搖擺的樣子。我都能把她想象成一個(gè)探險(xiǎn)家或獵人，一個(gè)踏上危險(xiǎn)征途或進(jìn)行漫長(zhǎng)而艱難的探險(xiǎn)的人。我喜歡偉大的探險(xiǎn)。

每當(dāng)爸爸心血來(lái)潮想要去割草的時(shí)候，我都很享受那青草的氣味。大多數(shù)時(shí)候，我討厭那些草，因?yàn)槲乙蚕胍粋€(gè)那種有泳池和籃筐的院子，我想要鋪著混凝土的院子。但是，每當(dāng)爸爸拿出電動(dòng)割草機(jī)，用灰熊般的猛勁兒“殺”向那一大片雜草時(shí)，我總會(huì)感覺(jué)自己是整個(gè)街區(qū)最幸運(yùn)的女孩——只因?yàn)橛心乔嗖莸臍馕丁；炷翛](méi)有春天的清新氣息，混凝土其實(shí)什么味道也沒(méi)有。

有很長(zhǎng)一段時(shí)期，院子里的草都被剪得很短，因?yàn)榘职謳Щ貋?lái)一張臺(tái)球桌（誰(shuí)知道他是從哪兒弄來(lái)的），隨便把它扔到了院子里，就像對(duì)待那棵桃樹(shù)一樣。對(duì)我們?nèi)胰藖?lái)說(shuō)，它就像一塊磁石，只要天氣允許，就會(huì)把我們吸引到那里。忽然之間，院子變成了我們的游樂(lè)室。我們的朋友也總想過(guò)來(lái)玩，雖然他們當(dāng)中有些人還不夠高，連臺(tái)球桌面都看不到，而且我們真的沒(méi)人知道該怎么玩。

爸爸的朋友來(lái)我家打臺(tái)球時(shí)，我們會(huì)在院子里吃燒烤。我們?cè)陂T(mén)廊四周掛起火炬式燈和提燈，有一晚差點(diǎn)就把門(mén)廊點(diǎn)著了。我們突然變成了“熱衷于待在院子里的人”，在我們?nèi)松拇蠖鄶?shù)時(shí)間里，這對(duì)于我們都是個(gè)陌生的概念。

那一年，媽媽種了西紅柿和黃瓜，桃子也像往年一樣長(zhǎng)得很好。我那時(shí)迷上了紫色，堅(jiān)持在院里種了杜鵑和牽牛花，雖然看似不可能，但所有這些都長(zhǎng)勢(shì)良好。“奇跡”二字都不足以形容這番景象。就好像那張臺(tái)球桌是個(gè)“綠手指”。在我的腦海中，臺(tái)球桌上那鮮艷的綠色絲絨配上色彩繽紛到難以置信的園景，構(gòu)成了一幅和諧的圖景。

然后秋天來(lái)了，接著嚴(yán)霜降下，花園因此失去了生機(jī)。等到春天到來(lái)時(shí)，我們正準(zhǔn)備搬去公寓里住，顧不上做“熱衷于待在院子里的人”了。我們知道新來(lái)的住戶會(huì)把院子里的一切都鏟掉，鋪上混凝土。在我們新搬去的那座公寓樓下有一處庭院，里面長(zhǎng)有精心修葺的灌木和花叢，還有一個(gè)廢棄的網(wǎng)球場(chǎng)，但那和擁有自家的庭院不是一碼事。

我不是那種向往典型美國(guó)夢(mèng)（夢(mèng)想著擁有一座房子、一條狗和一圈白色籬笆）的人。我這個(gè)人更有點(diǎn)兒像貓，對(duì)于老樹(shù)和蔓生的雜草也能夠接受。不過(guò)我還是暗自許下一個(gè)心愿，希望有朝一日自己可以擁有一座花園，可以跟某個(gè)對(duì)我而言特別的人一同照料它。

每當(dāng)看到萬(wàn)壽菊，我都會(huì)微笑著想起爸爸以及那些美好時(shí)光。我希望有一天能在一片新的荒地上擁有一個(gè)新的院子，它荒蕪，也不完美……