The Laughing Place

We live in the city.  You, dear reader, may have already stumbled upon this fact, given the title of the blog.  It becomes apparent right off the bat that my garden is not, say, in the hills of Appalachia, but in a more urban setting.

But where, you might ask, do the words “Laughing Place” fit in? Have I themed my garden toward Uncle Remus stories?  Taken my decorating cues from Disney? Nope.  The name of my garden space came as a result of the heart-to-heart talk between me and my 7 year old daughter that took place after firing the crew I naively hired to create my terraces.  It went something like this:

Me: Okay, so now we have…um…one piece of fence, some half braced terraces, and a mountain of dirt.  That went well, doncha think?

Child: Mommy, is this what you paid garden man (he might want to work for you, why should I spoil the surprise for you by giving his name and denying you the thrill of adventure that comes with hiring such a grand thinker?) to do?  Did you think it would look like this?

Me: No, honey, I did not think it would look like this.  I thought it would look like what we talked about, you know, a garden with a fence around it that would keep the dogs out.

Child: You paid him a lot, right?  Are you going to cry now?

Me: I did pay him a lot.  But, no, I am not going to cry. We are going to take down that crooked gate, figure out how to make this thing work, and start our garden.  Dang it!  Let’s get some paint and a board from the garage.

Child: Why?  What for?

Me: For a sign, I just thought of a name for the garden…The Laughing Place.  Because if a thing is bad enough, sometimes the best thing to do is just laugh about it.  And this place makes me laugh!