Ted Barris

I needed the contact, the conversation. Anything. So, I stopped at his front walk, so that a friend and I could talk – keeping physical distance – about how each other’s family was faring. We moaned about the weather and the isolation. We tried to stretch the human connection as long as possible. But all too soon, we had to bring our chat to an end. I wished him well.

“It’s back to the garden,” he said.

I smiled and nodded as I left, because he like I has found himself spending a lot of this spring’s lockdown time in his backyard. Indeed, after my wife and I had read as many books, newspapers and magazine back-issues – collecting at our bedsides, strewn across the dining-room table and gathering dust in the bathroom periodical stand – we turned to our next favourite pastime, Scrabble. But after that daily novelty wore off, we began gazing out our rear window at a yard full of challenge, potential accomplishment, and yes, even escape. The backyard beckoned.

First, I cleaned it up. The first snowfall back in November had hidden my dirty little secret, but about the time the hint of lockdown was broadcast in mid-March, I braved those cold days to rake, collect and bag all the debris I’d neglected last fall. Hell, I filled more than 30 big refuse bags a good three weeks before the municipality had scheduled yard-waste collection. I was really proud of myself. One of my neighbours even helped me knock down a dead tree along our property line. But that’s what sparked our next backyard activity – wildlife watch.

“Look at that!” my neighbour called out having felled a dead poplar perfectly between two other living ones. “They’re flying squirrels.”

We hadn’t spotted a hollowed-out section of the dead poplar, and it had been the home of two bug-eyed rodents (with tell-tale skin stretched between front legs and back) now clinging to one of the remaining live trees. But almost as suddenly as we’d evicted the squirrels, my neighbour had taken the portion of the hollowed-out trunk that had been the squirrel’s lair and strapped it to the living adjacent tree. Periodically ever since, we’ve peered into the night to see if the squirrels ever returned to their jerry-built tree-hole apartment.

It turns out that was just the start of our wildlife gazing – especially skyward. For years, we’ve haphazardly filled feeders with seeds for returning songbirds. We’ve even marked on the fridge calendar each year when we’ve heard wrens and seen hummingbirds in our backyard. But with more time and more frequent gazing this year, we’ve upped our game.

Early on in the pandemic, we invited the grandkids – appropriately distanced – to toss peanuts across the still boring, brown lawn. Then, my wife began placing fresh fruit on strings and platforms in plain view. As a result, aside from the usual blue jays, flickers and chickadees, we’ve enjoyed a rainbow of colour in the yard, thanks to mating pairs of goldfinches, orioles and cardinals chowing down on the smorgasbord of seeds and fruits. I even set up a tripod to photograph the feathered air show.

Biggest of our “backyarding” projects, however, came when our daughter (the jazz singer turned green thumb) told us about her latest backyard pandemic project – a couple of four-by-eight-foot raised garden beds she’d built. Well, didn’t we have to build some too.

Keep in mind, I have no handyman skills whatsoever. Nevertheless, we waited in line at one of the curb-side pickup hardware stores, brought home the lumber, engaged family assistance to cut it, and then I managed to piece together a pair of raised garden boxes for our backyard. Then, the topsoil arrived.

“Where do you want it?” the dump-truck driver asked.

“Right here in the driveway, I guess,” I said.

Do you know how many wheelbarrows full of topsoil it takes to fill two four-by-eight-foot raised garden beds? I didn’t either. But, over the next few days, I (and my back) learned what building Hadrian’s Wall or the CPR must have taken. Never mind. Now, the real work begins – organizing, planting and tending the vegetables that we hope to plant in those beds.

My wife and I have weathered the 2020 lockdown reasonably well; after all we’ve been married for nearly 45 years. And since both of us have survived as freelancers – working mostly from home – we’ve learned to live and work in close quarters, ’round-the-clock. However, I think she and I would both admit that the hours we’ve invested in our backyard this spring – wildlife gazing, yard cleaning and gardening – have surprised us. It’s given us satisfaction when we needed it. It’s provided simpler forms of enjoyment. And it’s probably helped us keep our sanity.

“Backyarding” may bore some people to death, but maybe it’s better than the risk of dying from COVID-19.