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。……