Cindy on July 24th, 2010
Whether it’s classical urns or pink plastic flamingos, limestone saints or impish ceramic elves, Ionic Styrofoam pedestals or poured concrete birdbaths, you are the curator of your own backyard exhibition.” — Mary Randolph Carter
I believe a garden should be more than rows of groomed beds and well-tended flowers. Just as the interior of a home reveals the personalities of its residents, a garden can reflect the quirks and passions of the people who tend it.
My favorite gardens tend to be “decorated” in the true sense of the word. For instance, I love the little thrill I get when I explore a friend’s herb garden and discover a stone cherub with a broken wing tucked behind the parsley and basil. Or a rusty flea-market bench perched in a bed of roses.
I’m also a huge fan of weathered gates used to support tomato vines, and one-of-a-kind birdbaths crafted by local artists. In other words, I’m a sucker for garden junk.
Like the things I’ve collected for my home over the years, most of my garden ornaments have sentimental meaning. Some don’t actually qualify as “junk,” as they were given to me as birthday gifts — including the granite Buddha (from my husband) resting in the Zen garden.
Of course, there’s always room for castoffs in my garden. When my friend Shirley moved to an apartment, she unloaded some of her own garden ornaments in my backyard. One of my favorites is the terracotta rabbit head that peeks out from a 
gnarled maple behind the patio.
I miss all my blogging friends this summer, but I hope you’re also outside soaking up some Vitamin D. (Remember, we can sit at our desks all winter and stare at the computer screen while the snow piles up.)
Meanwhile, I’ve been working long hours as an extra in several different film projects since June — quite a diversion from writing, blogging, and 
teaching! When I’m not working or looking in on my mother, I try to spend as much time as I can pulling weeds or admiring the blooms of my early summer handiwork. Here’s to summer! – Cindy La Ferle
– All photos in this post were taken in my garden. Click each one for a larger view.
Cindy on April 22nd, 2010
You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” — Plato
It wasn’t the designer showcase model for tree houses — but something about it appealed to my inner child and made her envious. Painted park-bench green, the simple plywood structure was perched high under the branches of a lofty evergreen in a neighbor’s wooded backyard. A red ladder leaned invitingly against its narrow front door.
Square footage-wise, the building was barely large enough to hold four small kids sitting cross-legged on the floor. Still, it wouldn’t take much imagination for its lucky owners to use it as the center of operations for secret agents, or maybe a hideout for mutinous aliens from Jupiter. Best of all, the crafty neighbor who’d built the new tree house had placed it at the farthest edge of the yard, making it the perfect retreat for plotting, napping or daydreaming.
Driving with my son, who was barely a teenager then, I cruised by it slowly for a better look.
“Hey, wouldn’t it be cool to have a tree house?” I asked, nodding toward our neighbor’s yard. My kid looked at me as though I’d just asked him to wear his bathing suit to church.
“You’re way too old for a tree house, Mom,” he said, dropping his voice another octave.
Too old for a treehouse? Says who?
Not Diane Ackerman, author of Deep Play (Vintage). “Deep play is a refuge from ordinary life, a sanctuary of the mind, where one is exempt from life’s customs,” she explains. Ackerman points out that many creatures, including dolphins and human beings, are wired to learn important lessons from playing — long after they’ve matured. Ackerman claims that our need to play — whether we opt to ride the merry-go-round at a carnival or craft model airplanes at home — is as natural as our need for sunshine. We can lay aside our sense of self, ignore pain, or just sit quietly, watching the world’s ordinary miracles, she writes.
Most grown-ups are conflicted about play. In our workaholic culture, the word “play” carries mixed messages. To play with someone’s heart is cruel; to play at something suggests laziness or lack of purpose. And how many of us advise our kids to stop playing around and get down to business? For most Americans, time off remains a guilty pleasure — a stolen afternoon on a golf course or in a deck chair when we should be toiling at the office. We’re praised and rewarded when we look busy or competitive or productive.
Riding my bicycle around the neighborhood yesterday, I was stopped by a neighbor on her way to work.
“Well, it must be nice to have time for a bike ride,” she shouted from her car window. I knew she was only teasing me — yet I felt compelled to justify my break from a deadline.
“I have to get back to my desk by noon,” I hollered back, trying to sound urgent and important. Why couldn’t I just admit that I’d come out to play? Even though I knew better, I peddled home feeling as if I’d been caught playing hooky.
“Our daily routines are stacked with chores, commitments, and too many requirements,” Ackerman reminds us. Sometimes we need to shed our obligations to feel fully alive. Time off will ultimately make us healthier, happier, and more productive people. And that’s why every grown-up needs a bicycle — or a treehouse — and a bright yellow permission slip for recess.
When was the last time you played a board game, hit the golf course, rode a carousel, put together a puzzle, or spent time with your favorite toys? — Cindy La Ferle
–A slightly different version of this piece was first published in The Daily Tribune of Royal Oak. –
Cindy on April 4th, 2009
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Michigan anymore….”
Jet-lagged and buried in vacation laundry, Doug and I are back from eight gorgeous days in southern California. After I get organized, I’ll be posting some of the highlights of our visit. In the meantime, it looks like I’ll need more than a weekend to get back to my southern Michigan routine. (My new three-week personal essay workshop also begins next week, so I’m excited about preparing for my new students.) While I was away, I truly missed everyone’s blogs and e-mails, and hope I can catch up sometime next week. Meanwhile, I hope spring has arrived, wherever you are! — CL P.S. While I was away, I forgot to post a link to this week’s Midpoint column in The Oakland Press. Thursday’s column is about reviving the art of the compliment in the age of sarcasm.
Cindy on July 16th, 2008
The sad reality always hits around the middle of July: Summer is at the halfway mark. Taking inventory of what we’ve accomplished since June, we realize how precious little time we’ve spent puttering around the house. Or getting tangled in a daydream while we water the geraniums. Or frittering the better part of an afternoon at a sidewalk café in our own hometown. Wasn’t there a corny old tune about âthe lazy, hazy daysâ of summer?
The first half of June always explodes like a bottle rocket into thin air. Graduation parties, baby showers, outdoor concerts, major-league ball games, and weddings â the season virtually booms with special events and ceremonies. Meanwhile, piles of work await on the desk back at the office.
A friend from Paris tells me that many Europeans use the entire month of July or August as vacation time. While such a long holiday isn’t usually possible for industrious Americans, I’d like to borrow a shorter page from my Parisian friend. Joie de vivre isn’t complicated, she says, but you have to make time for it. And so, before summer packs up its beach bag and clears out for a new school term, I’d like to indulge in a few non-eventful pleasures. Here’s my plan:
–With or without a hammock, I’ll watch more sunsets, spot fireflies, nap with my cats, and contemplate my world by moonlight. I’ll brush up on the names of wild birds and constellations.
–Instead of pulling weeds, or fussing over mildew on my rose bushes, I’ll sit back and admire what I’ve already planted.
–With or without company coming, I’ll cut fresh flowers for the dinner table. At least once, I’ll steam corn on the grill and make lemonade from scratch.
–Once I hit the beach, I’ll hunt for Petoskey stones, skipping stones, beach glass, and perfect pieces of driftwood. I’ll organize a group to float downriver in tubes. Later, if I can stay awake, I’ll go for a midnight swim.
–I’ll rent videos of movie classics I haven’t watched in ages.
–Just for one afternoon, I’ll read a beach-worthy novel that has no redeeming social value while I sunbathe without worrying about skin cancer.
–I’ll ride my bike for an entire morning without checking my watch. Maybe I’ll leave the watch at home.
Even while traveling for pleasure, most of us “schedule” our fun. We make lists of what we’ll accomplish — how much ground we’ll cover — on vacation. Always en route to another big attraction, we snap photographs of beautiful places — but rarely pause to fully appreciate the view. Which is a shame, really, since loafing actually enhances productivity.
âSome of the best thinking we do happens when the conscious mind is on a sabbatical,â Vienne notes in The Art of Doing Nothing (Clarkston Potter). She reminds us that Thomas Edison discovered the light bulb filament âwhile idly rolling kerosene residue between his fingers.â Likewise, Einstein pondered the mysteries of the universe with a cat in his lap. âSo don’t get up yet,â Vienne advises. âContribute to science. Stay prone as long as you can.â
It’s always fun to anticipate and celebrate the major milestones of our lives. But we need a break from âspecialâ events, not to mention a reprieve from all those pithy graduation speeches about beginnings and endings. We need ordinary time. Come August, I want to say good-bye to summer knowing that I’ve squeezed every last drop of its sweetness and savored it all. – Cindy La Ferle
I believe a garden should be more than rows of groomed beds and well-tended flowers. Just as the interior of a home reveals the personalities of its residents, a garden can reflect the quirks and passions of the people who tend it.
I’m also a huge fan of weathered gates used to support tomato vines, and one-of-a-kind birdbaths crafted by local artists. In other words, I’m a sucker for garden junk.
Of course, there’s always room for castoffs in my garden. When my friend Shirley moved to an apartment, she unloaded some of her own garden ornaments in my backyard. One of my favorites is the terracotta rabbit head that peeks out from a 
gnarled maple behind the patio.
teaching! When I’m not working or looking in on my mother, I try to spend as much time as I can pulling weeds or admiring the blooms of my early summer handiwork. Here’s to summer! – Cindy La Ferle
