The yard itself was a couple of acres. Nothing says “rich” more than a couple of acres of grass that has to be mowed with a tractor.
At the edge, just at the drop-off of the hill to the river, was a row of boxwood bushes, rounded like great green pompoms, or that was the idea. They grew rather wildly after a few years.
The bushes were large enough to hide behind, though. I’d head out to one, after dinner, at the far edge of the lawn, and sit behind it. If I arranged myself carefully, I could block the house out of my vision, and have a bit of peace. If I couldn’t see the house, then Mom couldn’t see me, and that was the whole point. No sense in blaming the house for my mother’s failings, but it was nearly impossible, in practice, to separate the two. I rather think that the house understood.
I would stay out there till the light failed. This was not practical in the wintertime, of course. And then, back inside for the rest of homework and television and bed.
I have no idea if Mother ever knew I hid behind that bush, or which bush. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to distinguish between bushes, or between anything else in the natural (as opposed to fashionable) world. Though I think it would have been difficult not to notice a girl hiking out to the edge of the yard in an evening. Difficult, but for my mother, neither impossible nor unthinkable.
white pebble 