Years ago, my therapist asked me if I’d ever thought that maybe my parents actually are happy, that they might just define “happiness” or “joy” or even “fun” differently than me. I agreed with her and said that yes, they most definitely define all those things differently than me. But I did not think that living in spaces that are cluttered with literal trash and junk up to the ceiling was hygienic, healthy, or joyful.

My mom tries her best to clean what she can. But I know her fatigue and spine misalignment do prevent her from doing as much comfortably, so she has let go of caring of a lot of cleaning that she used to be obsessive about (and constantly yell at Ed and me about growing up). My dad isn’t a very clean person sadly. It’s almost like he doesn’t see the thick layers of dust accumulating on the shelves or the gunk accumulating in his soap dishes. But while he fails to keep clean and tidy, he seems to be very into his compost pile in the backyard. Right now, it seems to be his mini source of pride. He was talking about it when we got home today, and I suggested that maybe he could show it to Kaia. My dad, almost like a kid lighting up at the mention of “candy,” immediately agreed and offered to take us to the backyard to show us. We bundled Kaia up and brought her down to the yard.

My dad showed us the black bins where he stored fruit, veggie, and shredded paper scraps. And in it was mixed dirt which had been turned into very rich, dark, (and stinky) soil. He used a shovel to see if he could show Kaia some worms, and he found three of varying sizes, all wiggling around excitedly at being moved. Kaia was extremely intrigued, looking at all the worms squirming around just inches from her face. And like last year, her eyes were glimmering with fascination at the extremely messy, weed-strewn yard, with endless piles of dirt, overgrowth, potted plants, and zero sense of order. It’s almost as though lack of order, untidiness, and piles of junk are a young toddler’s paradise for treasure hunting. She ran around it a few times, poking and peering at random plants and pots. She seemed to find the chaos and mess fun — that’s youthful “ignorance is bliss,” isn’t it?

Even though the yard is a total mess, and has continued to be a weed fest since my grandmother died in 2005 with signs of only getting worse and more cluttered, my dad seems to have his own blissful ignorance about it. My parents have both propagated and bought new potted plants that do seem to be faring well, even in the last year. But there is zero chance that any of these plants will be properly planted into the ground with any real landscaping work to be done to make the yard into a welcoming garden or a place of pride. My dad was happily explaining the way compost works and how the worms help the soil get richer to Kaia. It was likely the happiest I’d seen him during this entire visit. I asked him if he was planning to use this enriched soil for his plants, to which he responded… No, because he just wanted it to keep regenerating and feeding!

I thought the whole point of having a compost pile was to a) reduce waste by recycling food scraps and b) create rich soil to help other plants grow. The rhyme and reason never quite makes sense to me in this house.

So, maybe I do think it’s a bit senseless to create compost soil and not do anything with it to help other plants or with up-soiling the yard. But it seems to make my dad happy and give him some purpose. Maybe in that sense, I should just accept that as something that brings him joy. And if it partially keeps him occupied in a way he finds productive, then that’s all that matters. It’s ultimately his life and what makes him happy.