Joy in Your Back Yard

The Boston Herald

A simple thing in these complicated times. My son-in-law e-mailed me a test. You know the kind. What's your favorite food? What was the last movie you saw? Which do you prefer: Sprite or 7-Up? Croutons or bacon bits? The person sending the quiz answers these questions, then sends it to you. You read his answers, delete them, add your own, then e-mail the test with your answers to all of your friends.

The questions are basic. But one of Dave's answers was not, because it hinted at the answer to a BIG question: What is the secret of happiness? It was the pot of gold and it was not at the end of any rainbow, but right outside his window. What's your favorite flower, was the question. Dave's answer: "The peonies that grow in my backyard.”

Peonies aren't even out of the ground yet, but he remembered them from a year ago, and choose them as his favorite over so many other flashier flowers wrapped in cellophane and tied with a ribbon. Peonies bloom in early June, and are dark pink and pure white. They have no scent, so although they look lush in a vase, they don't sweeten the air. They don't say to the world: Take a deep breath. I'm here. And yet, there they are, every year, right on schedule, pushing through the soil, growing and blooming, with little help from human hands.

I have them in my yard, too. But I never thought of them as a favorite because the truth is, I hardly think of them at all.

I think about the magnolia tree in front of the library. If someone asked me, "What's your favorite tree?" I would say the library tree in the spring and Mr. Jorgenson's tree in the fall. I wouldn't say my own big oak, which shades my front yard because I see it every day. And because I do, because I don't have to drive down the street or across town to get a glimpse, I don't really see it at all. My favorite flower? I would have said something store bought, or the lilacs that bloom across the street.

But I have lilacs, too. And though my tree is small, it bloomed last year and the year before, and I could see it and smell it from my kitchen window.

And yet I look beyond what I can see for my favorite, as if a favorite has to be inaccessible.

Dave's answer made me think about a sermon a priest gave a few months ago. "Bloom where you are planted," he said. Grow and thrive where you are. Don't always be focused on what you're not and what you don't have. See and give thanks for what you are and for all you've got.

I was at friend's in Florida last month at a condo overlooking the ocean and night and day I heard the waves breaking and every morning I watched the sun rise. 

And then I came home and wished I were there.

Then this week, I awoke to one loud, incredibly happy bird. And when I looked out the window to see it, I saw a sky streaked like a candy cane with pink and the silhouette of thin, bare trees touched by this light. And I thought this is beauty, too. And for all that I love the ocean, you can't hear the birds over the waves. And for all that I love seeing the sunrise, I also love just seeing its light.

We are encouraged to strive and to want more, and to never be content or happy with what is. Which is crazy. Now more than ever we need to look around and recognize all that we have.

Favorite flower? Every one I see.

Favorite sound? Dogs barking, birds chirping, the voices of the people I love.