Suburban Claustrophobia

Canada Red Choke Cherry. Small tree forming a rounded pyramidal crown. The leaves come out light green, then turn to reddish-purple later in the Summer. The flowers are white and bloom in April; fruits are dark purple. Easily grown and very cold hardy.

Newport Flowering Plum. Dark purple foliage holds its color well in full sun. This tree is more tolerant of changing temperatures than Thundercloud. Single, pink flowers in early spring followed by fruit.

Chanticleer Flowering Pear. This tree forms a narrow, upright, somewhat pyramidal crown with crisp, glossy green foliage that turns reddish in the Fall. The flowers are white and form in clusters.

For months now, I have been battling the slow onset of suburban claustrophobia. The neighbors' homes, which have always been too close for comfort, now seem to be expanding every day. Is it possible that they have foundations on wheels and once in a while, when nobody is looking, they push a little closer to me, boxing me in more and more? Perhaps not but it feels like it.

My crisis began when I contemplated a fix for my problem.

Problem: I feel that my yard has no privacy and I may as well be in a public park (which I despise greatly) when I step outside. (Note to self: is it reasonable to feel like I have to be dressed for public, hair combed, makeup on (ha ha... gotcha.. I never wear makeup except when I'm going out and even then, only rarely...) before I go through my back door? I say NO! Not reasonable!)

Proposed Solution: Line the backyard with trees, which will grow and fill in and make me feel less like my neighbors are holding binoculars up to see my movements. (Note to self: that is absurb on so many levels but I never claimed to be exempt from absurdity so ha! As if my neighbors would need binoculars to see ten feet away? and what would they be watching?)

Putting the plan into action: Look at map of yard. Problems emerge: It will take years for the trees to mature and fill in. If I were to plant them NOW for the privacy I want NOW, they would overrun each other and become tangled within two years. But I don't want to wait two years to go lie down in my backyard with tangled hair and holes in my clothes. I want to go stretch out in whatever I feel comfortable in--lying in some position that is completely ridiculous-looking but COMFORTABLE--and I want to do it NOW!

Perhaps I feel like a spoiled child who has been denied a piece of candy. Or that brat in "Willy Wonka" who screams, "But I want it NOW Daddy! Now Now Now!" Perhaps I need to chill. One feeling I couldn't deny, however, as I stood shyly in the shade of my french doors was the sense of unhappy claustrophia. I wanted to run and sing and act like a child in my back yard if the mood struck me. I didn't want to feel on display. As I mulled these things over, I waved to my neighbor who was jumping on the trampoline in her back yard. Each bounce reminded me that I am part of a larger community--like it or not.

When my husband got home from work yesterday, I told him I was feeling claustrophic in our neighborhood but I was trying to not think about it. I laughed it off, because he wasn't thrilled with my plans to buy a half acre in Lehi and get a house half the size for the same cost. I wasn't particularly thrilled with THAT aspect of it either, but I digress. I laughed it off but the feeling remained.

Long Story (even longer than what is posted) Short: The doorbell rang this morning and somebody from my landscaping company was at the door. "Where do you want these trees?" he asked. I stood there dumbly.

"Umm let me come look at them," I said. I walked all around my yard while the landscaper stood there (semi)patiently. First I chose one spot. Then another. Then another. Then after I'd finalized where I wanted everything I changed it all around. Two flowering pears in the front yard. The Canada Red Chokecherry and Flowering Plum (Newport) in the back yard. I had to face the facts: no amount of rearranging four small trees is going to turn my .19 into a 1.19 acre lot. Claustrophia set in again.

But now, as I look out my second story window to the neighbors down below, there is one more piece of humanity and nature planted below. Humanity because my two Flowering Pear trees are joining a whole procession of perfectly-proportioned, spring-blooming, autumn-coloring, not-too-small yet not-too-big, neighborhood-friendly trees that my neighbors would approve of. I resisted this variety at first because it is so popular in landscaping right now and I have that tendency to want to prove I think for myself rather than blindly following the pack. But facts are facts: these trees are gorgeous and no amount of rebellious, individualistic free thinking can change that fact. So now I have one more thing in common with those around me.

As I was driving away after the trees were planted, my neighbor called out, "Flowering Pears?" I nodded and we discussed them. My neighbor approved. And suddenly I felt protective of my little trees. They're like children when you get down to it: my trees may be smaller than my neighbors' or less perfectly oval or vaselike in their shape. But they are mine. And because they are mine they are beautiful. If they grow ill, I will worry and watch over them. And if they die, I will feel a real sense of sorrow as a piece of me is forcefully extracted from my being. And until then, I will have headaches over them but love them. And perhaps we'll add more to our family one day. I'm already thinking about a weeping cherry. Or a corkscrew willow. Or an ash. Or a braeburn apple to harvest each fall. Or a peach tree for my husband. Or apricot just to get those beautiful blossoms even though I can't stand the fruit....