#it wasn't even for pesticides it was for something structural ain't even wrong with the house

[witheredgardenparty]

Where I live, a common scam is for someone to knock on your door and say, "we're giving estimates to everyone in the neighborhood." I think it's the sort of scam that must be common in suburban areas, which is odd because A.) I do not live in a suburb and B.) I live in a very strange location that adds an almost fae-like surreal layer to the grift.

A nervous young man in an ill-fitting uniform knocks on my door and wants to know if I have problems with unwanted pests. Do I have any yellow jackets in my walls? Ants crawling across my counters? Spider season is upon us, am I ready?

He turns around and points in the distance.

At first, I think he is pointing up into the maple tree behind him. There is a low hanging cone of mud and spittle, a fully formed paper wasp nest. It has been active for months. The brood are voracious consumers of aphids and invasive grubs. Paper wasps are social creatures who recognize their neighbors, know how to avoid unnecessary conflict so long as resources are plentiful.

Instead, the young man is pointing at a house nearby. He calls the owner by name. Says he gave her an excellent price for treatment of the yard and house.

Her yard is sterile grass. No matter how she tries, nothing much else grows. Her daisies wilt in decent weather. Her plum trees do not blossom. There is no movement.

I have to step outside to properly continue speaking. The cats are trying to escape through the open threshold. They need kicking back, a door shutting. I cradle my cup of tea and beetles creep between my toes.

I ask him only, does it look like anything is unwanted here?

He blinks at me, then blinks again. Finally, he really looks.

There is no sterile grass. Only broadleaf herbs and purple clover and wild vetch toppling unto itself climbing up up up onto any surface. There are patches of field designated for flowers bursting in every color, always something blooming no matter the season. Gourds slither between corn stalks, over dragon's tongues.

Bees are resting on every blossom. Ants are keeping the soil aerated. Cicadas are humming in the summer heat. Damselflies are dancing to the tune.

A magnolia tree towers over us both, its leaves lousy with spicebush caterpillars.

Everything is living. Everything is dying. And nothing for the fault of simply existing.

The young man looks back at me with different eyes. He thanks me for my time.

He returns to his company car and I return inside. There is the overwhelming feeling that an unspoken test has been passed. Though neither of us is certain which one of us was the fae.