小小庭院：我的独家记忆

ByAlicia++阿诺

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 ...

布鲁克林的褐砂石住宅并不以美得惊人的花园而著称，至少在我过去生活的街区是这样的。在我长大的那条街上，人们对于自然的概念延伸到了庭院中蔓生的杂草、路沿两旁长着的朽败的橡树以及攀爬于建筑物表面那一圈圈衰败的藤蔓。居民的后院里都是一片荒芜，无人打理。

不过，还是有这样一个地方，悄悄地为我们的城市生活增添了些许自然的元素。我家后院的植株长得疏疏落落的，有一种漫不经心的美。在我最初的记忆中，我曾摘下祖母心爱的郁金香，将其献给一年级的老师，以巩固我作为老师宠爱的学生的地位。我记得自己在二年级时曾短暂地迷恋上了万寿菊，那时爸爸买了许多袋装的花种，我们花了一天的时间把种子种下去，之后却很快就将它们忘在了脑后。当花园里突然冒出一小块一小块稀稀落落的橘色和黄色时，我们赞叹这是个奇迹。

在这个不同寻常的花园里发生的奇迹还不止这一桩。有一次，爸爸带了两棵桃树回家，一棵送给了隔壁那家人，另一棵就种在了我家院子一个荒僻的角落里。像上次种万寿菊一样，他给桃树覆了点儿土，就把它给忘了。第二年春天，我们收获了很不错的桃子。妈妈做了蜜桃雪葩，还与邻居们一同分享。

我家的院子是为数不多的有草的院子之一。我们那条街上的大部分人家都把自家杂草丛生的草坪铲掉，铺上了混凝土。另一些人家在院子里安装了篮筐和塑料小泳池，有的院子还保留着几小块土地。而我家的院子则是四四方方的一大片土地，杂草丛生，无法打理。这些草常常长得比我和妹妹还要高，而且像我的卷发一样狂野不羁，为我们的院子平添了几分丛林的感觉。有时，我会不经意把玩具扔到草丛里，然后派我那更富有冒险精神的妹妹去把它们找回来。她从草丛里出来时总会有地方被划伤，浑身脏兮兮的，不过却是一脸的得意洋洋。我因为怕蛇，觉得自己连靠近离草丛两英尺的范围之内都不可能。但是我喜欢看着那些高高的叶片随着妹妹在草丛中奋力穿行摇摆的样子。我都能把她想象成一个探险家或猎人，一个踏上危险征途或进行漫长而艰难的探险的人。我喜欢伟大的探险。

每当爸爸心血来潮想要去割草的时候，我都很享受那青草的气味。大多数时候，我讨厌那些草，因为我也想要一个那种有泳池和篮筐的院子，我想要铺着混凝土的院子。但是，每当爸爸拿出电动割草机，用灰熊般的猛劲儿“杀”向那一大片杂草时，我总会感觉自己是整个街区最幸运的女孩——只因为有那青草的气味。混凝土没有春天的清新气息，混凝土其实什么味道也没有。

有很长一段时期，院子里的草都被剪得很短，因为爸爸带回来一张台球桌（谁知道他是从哪儿弄来的），随便把它扔到了院子里，就像对待那棵桃树一样。对我们全家人来说，它就像一块磁石，只要天气允许，就会把我们吸引到那里。忽然之间，院子变成了我们的游乐室。我们的朋友也总想过来玩，虽然他们当中有些人还不够高，连台球桌面都看不到，而且我们真的没人知道该怎么玩。

爸爸的朋友来我家打台球时，我们会在院子里吃烧烤。我们在门廊四周挂起火炬式灯和提灯，有一晚差点就把门廊点着了。我们突然变成了“热衷于待在院子里的人”，在我们人生的大多数时间里，这对于我们都是个陌生的概念。

那一年，妈妈种了西红柿和黄瓜，桃子也像往年一样长得很好。我那时迷上了紫色，坚持在院里种了杜鹃和牵牛花，虽然看似不可能，但所有这些都长势良好。“奇迹”二字都不足以形容这番景象。就好像那张台球桌是个“绿手指”。在我的脑海中，台球桌上那鲜艳的绿色丝绒配上色彩缤纷到难以置信的园景，构成了一幅和谐的图景。

然后秋天来了，接着严霜降下，花园因此失去了生机。等到春天到来时，我们正准备搬去公寓里住，顾不上做“热衷于待在院子里的人”了。我们知道新来的住户会把院子里的一切都铲掉，铺上混凝土。在我们新搬去的那座公寓楼下有一处庭院，里面长有精心修葺的灌木和花丛，还有一个废弃的网球场，但那和拥有自家的庭院不是一码事。

我不是那种向往典型美国梦（梦想着拥有一座房子、一条狗和一圈白色篱笆）的人。我这个人更有点儿像猫，对于老树和蔓生的杂草也能够接受。不过我还是暗自许下一个心愿，希望有朝一日自己可以拥有一座花园，可以跟某个对我而言特别的人一同照料它。

每当看到万寿菊，我都会微笑着想起爸爸以及那些美好时光。我希望有一天能在一片新的荒地上拥有一个新的院子，它荒芜，也不完美……