Some elements of the following story are true, some are not....Landscaping: A Memoir
I always wanted a yard with a stream. Nothing fancy, just a little swath of cool running water full of shiny pebbles. I used to daydream about it. Life was pretty good, but it'd be even better with my own stream.
When my family moved into a new house, I was happy to find the yard had albino violets in the woods and garnet-mica-schist for my rock tumbler, but I was very disappointed at the lack of a stream.
After a few days, I decided to do something about the situation. I got the garden hose from the garage and dragged it to the top of a hill.
I turned the hose on full blast and let the water run through the orange-clay soil, dislodging scraggly clumps of grass that probably wouldn't have made it through the summer anyways.
After about 10 minutes, I had succeeded in making a mud puddle. I knew from a science show on public television that running water had created the Grand Canyon, I mean, it had probably taken a long time and all, maybe 30 years, but surely a measly stream could be created much faster...
Twenty minutes later, I was examining what appeared to be a large chunk of smoky quartz sticking out of the mud as the hose continued to pour water down the hill.
A foot wearing tennis shoes with rainbow shoelaces stomped into the puddle in front of me. Mud splashed into my face.
“Suffer my wrath!” bellowed my sister, jumping around like a deranged Iguanodon.
I washed off my face, and then I set the hose back to its task.
“What are you doing?” my sister asked, still stomping.
“Making a stream.”
She eyed me critically, “That doesn't sound very cool,” she said fiddling with one of the fluorescent ribbons on her black sweatsuit. Then she walked back to the house.
I turned once more to the chunk of smoky quartz I had found. I tried to pry it out of the ground, but it was too big, I couldn't grasp it. So I used my thumb to create a high-pressure stream of water from the hose and directed it at the sides of the rock. Soon it would be mine.
I was so involved in my labor, that I barely noticed when my sister returned, carrying a large bucket.
“This should help,” she said, dumping a pailful of water onto the ground.
Then everything started happening at once. The rock suddenly popped out of the mud, like a cork from a bottle. I caught it and fell backwards clutching it to my chest. The air swooshed eerily and the water began pouring into the space where the rock had been.
Then the ground started to get squishy and shaky and--
“SINKHOLE!” I screamed.
My sister and I turned around and ran all the way back to the garage.
When we reached the relative safety of the driveway we hazarded a glance behind us.
There was a gigantic chasm in the backyard.
“You are in so much trouble,” my sister muttered.
After the ground stopped shaking, she took a few steps towards the hole.
“No! Don't!” I said, holding her back, “There might be magma!”
My sister rolled her eyes, but stopped.
“What are you two doing out here?” my Mom asked, standing in the doorway of the garage, “Why was the ground shaking?”
“She made a--” my sister began.
“There's a sinkhole in the backyard," I finished.
“Did it swallow my garden?” my Mom asked in a scary, quiet voice.
“No, the garden's fine,” my sister replied.
My Mom mouthed a silent thank-you to the sky and then went back inside.
“What's that in your hand?” my sister asked.
In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten about the rock. Now I held it up, it was a smooth sphere of smoky quartz, about the size of a softball.
“Maybe if we put it back, the sinkhole will go away,” I suggested.
I handed the rock to my sister and she wound up her arm to pitch it into the chasm, but then she stopped.
“Nah. I kinda like it,” she said, shrugging.
“The rock? Or the sinkhole?”
“Both.”
