I’ve been bouncing between doing a little bit of yard work and planting myself in a chair on The Urban Porch during this spate of gorgeous days. The poppy patch, located in a corner of the front yard by the entrance to the driveway and near the sidewalk, is gearing up to its annual display. The patch began with a couple of small, wilted-leafed plants gifted from a friend’s prolific garden that didn’t seem to want to grow in mine.

For years nothing happened. And then one Spring day out of the blue, a couple of poppies suddenly appeared. As years have gone by they eventually spread out and have become a nice little bed that blooms each May and lasts a few weeks. Right now there are a mass of fuzzy-headed pods on the verge of bursting open to reveal their vermillion petticoats within.

Yesterday morning the very first one bloomed, which was kind of exciting. It was small, but lovely, standing alone in contrast against a background of spent daffodil leaves.

There is a lot of foot-traffic going by on these bluestone sidewalks in front of the house. While out there weeding, many people stopped to admire the single blossom or ask what it was. I let them know if they kept checking back that it would be a treat to see them all together, like a party of Flamenco dancers in vibrant skirts. When the entire patch is in flower, people stop to take photos of themselves or their children in front of them. Some come with very good cameras to take professional-looking shots. While walking by, many cannot help but reach a hand out to gently brush the petals with their fingertips.

When the petals are finally spent and blown, I save the seed pods, to be shared with whoever asks for some. The poppies tend to bring some temporary joy to the neighborhood, much like the beautiful cherry tree across the street which just finished dropping all its pink petals.

Last evening when I went to take the dog out, I discovered the poppy was gone.

Someone had taken it! I couldn’t believe it…. I actually went outside again a number of times to make sure it was really not there. That perhaps it had been knocked over or stepped on by accident, or bent over and tangled in the other growth. But no, it had been picked. Somebody stole the lone poppy.

How incredibly disrespectful to just take flowers out of someone else’s garden without asking. And to take the only flower that was there! Beyond rude. I was hoping at least maybe it had been a child that had taken it. There is an innocence to that which would have felt a lot more palatable. But it wasn’t – it was an adult. I know this because there happens to be a video camera on the front porch and another one on the barn…. something that became an unfortunate necessity to install a few years ago. So I know that every single person that stopped to check out the poppy – from the time I was weeding the patch up until the time I took the dog out – was an adult. Which to me changes it from something rather innocent to something that feels rather violating. The waste of it also is that these particular poppies don’t last long once you cut them. I just hope that whoever took it really needed it, or gave it to someone whose day was then brightened.

I thought about putting a sign out by the flowers asking people to please leave them for others to enjoy and to take nothing but a picture. Except I already have a polite sign out there asking people to please be respectful and not let their dogs pee and crap in the flowers.

That sign is a brand new development…. it has only been there a day so far, and the reason I (reluctantly) had been considering getting one was because I am repeatedly picking up dog crap out of the yard (mostly left by the same neighbor). It is rather infuriating and kind of gross to be kneeling and shoulders deep into the weeding and having to deal with that. But the final event that pushed me to get that sign happened a few days ago, while I was actually sitting outside a mere few feet away from the poppy patch.

A woman and her dog came along and she stopped to let the dog pee all over them, right in front of me. Incredulous, I said to her “That’s my garden.” You would think any person with even a shred of awareness might have apologized and pulled their dog away. But she just stood there, allowing her dog to continue sniffing, peeing, and then (this is the worst) kick up/dig up the ground where the plants were growing! Acting like nothing was happening, she then asked me what they were. before ambling away. Honestly, I had to almost bite my tongue not to say “Are you some kind of clueless idiot?” Perhaps I should have.

So I put up that sign and have noticed, at least for day one, that it seems to have evoked a sliver of consciousness in a few people, who paused, noticed it, and then quickly pulled their dogs past the flower beds. However, knowing how it is around here, I expect to eventually either find a giant turd sitting in front of the sign making a defiant statement, or someone will just steal the sign. Either is a very real possibility and I would not be surprised if I wake up tomorrow morning and find the sign gone and a large pile of poop in its place.

In any case, I don’t want to fill the yard with signs (some of my neighbors have…I don’t know that they do any good though) and I definitely don’t want to be that cranky old lady sitting on her porch yelling at everyone to pick up their dog doo and not pick the flowers. I don’t want to be The Garden Police. I just have an ever growing disgust for disrespectful humans.

The truth – this is not about the flower – it’s only a flower and there will be other flowers. It’s more about a mindset regarding respect – of nature and of others – and it pushed a few of my buttons about all of it on a much greater scale. I could not help but reflect on something that stood out to me a couple of weeks ago while walking through a redwood forest. Some of the massive, fallen trees were filled with people’s carved names and initials. Even though those trees were no longer alive, there was still something so irreverent and emotionally disturbing about it. Synchronistically, I saw this poem posted on social media this week that went to the heart of addressing the apathy and disconnect :

Letter to the Person Who Carved His Initials into the Oldest Living Longleaf Pine in North America – by Matthew Olzmann -Southern Pines, NC

Tell me what it’s like to live without curiosity, without awe. 

To sail on clear water, rolling your eyes at the kelp reefs swaying beneath you, ignoring the flicker of mermaid scales in the mist, looking at the world and feeling only boredom. 

To stand on the precipice of some wild valley, the eagles circling, a herd of caribou booming below, and to yawn with indifference. 

To discover something primordial and holy.

To have the smell of the earth welcome you to everywhere.

To take it all in, and then, to reach for your knife.

~*~