MULCHING LEAVES IN NORTH PARK

 

MULCHING LEAVES IN NORTH PARK

I.

That grove of trees by the tracks

out of town in North Dakota

a mile or so from the grain elevator

Dad managed, aspen, that’s what

I wanted in this ten by forty foot patch,

I call it a park, but it’s that grove

I carried from childhood, planting four trees

of size in late middle-age. Late 70s now,

tree roots can’t penetrate clay just under

laid-down sod by developers, need

nutrients. I feed, aerate and mulch.

Four trees, Canadian Chokecherry,

Juneberry, China Snow, Coral Bark Maple,

Worked by hand, Fall Harvest,

a semi-circle survival must.

II.

Decomposition rate, decay, soil fauna,

nutrient release, tree species diversity.

Getting nitrates. The nitrogen.

Research says oak leaves make great mulch,

but no oak tree here.

Shredded leaves break down faster.

Acid loving plants like oak and beech.

No beech.

Add organic matter and fertility to soil,

insulate roots, cooler in summer,

warmer in winter, attract beneficial organisms,

repel pests, boost immune systems.

But remember, I’m breaking down clay.

Breaking down clay in the North Park.

Handle, foot bar, four tines. Hand-held aerator.

A meditation penetrating through sod to rock and clay.

Dig it up, turn it over. Like compost.

Mulch with the mower, and rake.

This morning I’m harvesting leaves

from three Jacquemonte Birch. They’re yellow.

I’ve harvested the Korean Pear and Autumn Blaze Maple.

Autumn Blaze the great tree of this garden.

Red spectrum dragon-fire.

Five men and a trailer to plant it.

The towering presence. A barn-full of leaves.

Mother-load mulch.

What’s left are two lilac bushes,

a dogwood, and Little Cherry Twist.

And now the yard before me

in its new bumped-up look of colors.

All green gone except for the pastel

of torn beauty from China Snow

among the browns and deep reds.

A carpet of fall foolishness

from a practice of hope.

III.

Small park un-improved.

Child place for old man with book

under-and-over,

unburied and green-leafed.

IV.

Rain last night.

Rain on tarp covering dog run

outside bedroom window.

Rain on soil in North Park.

Rain over my head.

I open my eyes and listen.

Rain drops finding their way

through mulched leaves

through turned-up sod,

dropping from colored fleck

to colored fleck. Pushing time.

Probing tines and worms in clay.

Disrupting hope, oxygen

carriers. Mattress holding

against tightened thighs, cramped.

Willie Loman planting carrots.

Last payment resistance-bounty.

Colors’ redemption.

Torn leaves and gold coins.

Dogwood offering itself bleeding out.

Jim Bodeen

October 2021