RIP, Chipmunk. RIP, Yard.

When we moved into our house in the spring of 2002, we were especially excited about our new yard. In the front, we had several shade trees, including a large Bradford Pear. Out back was was a meticulously-maintained English garden surrounded by a hand-built stone wall and vibrant green grass.

We didn’t have the gardening expertise of the previous owners, so we didn’t do a whole lot beyond keeping the grass cut and the weeds pulled. Since spring always brings with it a lot of rain here in Tennessee, we didn’t have to worry about watering. We thought our minimal efforts would be enough to maintain our yard’s status quo.

We were wrong.

So very, very wrong.

A couple of months after moving in, we left for our two-week wedding and honeymoon trip to the UK. When we returned, our beautiful green Eden of a yard was… BROWN.

Completely and totally BROWN.

We later learned from our neighbors that the owners before us had gone to extreme lengths to keep the yard green while they tried to sell the house. The number of shade trees in our yard (and the fact that it backs up to a large forest)  keeps it almost entirely in the shade by summer. At that point, everything in our yard that needs sun– like GRASS– dies.

Good times.

We limped along for several years, unable to afford a landscaper on our single income. Dennis did the best he could, but we really needed to take out some trees in order to fix the shade problem, and we just couldn’t afford to do that– at least until recently. A few months ago, we were finally able to hire a man who came to our house and removed every tree that was sick (like our Bradford Pear, which hadn’t bloomed in years) or leaning toward our house or a neighbor’s yard. Twelve trees later, our property has a new lease on life. Our house is visible again, since twenty-foot firs on either side of our front door were removed. Our back yard, for the first time EVER, is actually sunny. Dennis planted new grass and we repainted the house trim and garage door. Since we opted to keep the main shade tree in our front yard, our grass is still a bit patchy, but clover is covering most of the bald spots and  it looks so much better than it used to. I realized that for the first time, I was actually smiling to myself every time I pulled into our driveway. Our house looked NORMAL. Our yard looked NORMAL. Finally. We fit in!

And then I went out of town.

I should have known there would be some sort of karmic price to pay for leaving home in order to attend a blogging conference at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Beach. You just can’t leave your family behind and enjoy opulent parties and an oceanfront room on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean without some form of retribution upon your return. From experience, I was expecting the house to be wrecked when I got home, and Punky’s hair to require detangling, and Bruiser to be in serious need of a good scrubbing.

I was not expecting this.

“What’s this about?” I asked my daughter, the obvious writer of the words ‘Here lies Willy.’

“It was a chipmunk,” she replied solemnly. “Susie and I found him in the rainwater in the wheelbarrow. He must have drowned.”

“Did you touch him?” I asked, horrified.

“Of course not!” she said. “I know better than to touch a dead animal, Mommy.” She gave me a withering look. “We got him out with a shovel and put him in a shoebox. And then we buried him.”

Cute, right?

Except for the fact that THEY BURIED HIM IN MY TINY FRONT YARD.

“How could you let them bury him in the front yard, Dennis?” I asked my husband through clenched teeth after Punky had run off to play. “Why not have them do it in the BACK YARD?”

“I didn’t know until it was too late,” he shrugged. “They didn’t tell me what was going on until they had finished.”

So now, the first thing I see as I pull in my driveway isn’t the fresh white trim on my house, or the newly-sprung green grass. No.

I see a freaking pet cemetery. IN MY FRONT YARD.

But wait! There’s more!

A few days ago, this appeared.

“Why did you put that candlestick behind the chipmunk grave, Punky?” I asked.

“To honor the chipmunk’s memory, of course,” she said.

Oh yeah.

OF COURSE.

I’m trying to find a bright side here.

Let’s just say that if you have any wildlife that needs burying, I’ve got a perfect spot. In my front yard. For a small fee.

Meanwhile, if anyone needs me, I’ll be perusing the condominium ads.

 

Chipmunk Image via Dawn Huczek/Flickr