Grand Theft Foliage

The moon is shrouded by thick clouds. Silently, unobserved, the black form slips between the shrubbery seemingly unaffected by the stifling heat and humidity. Surely, an innocent life will be disrupted this night. Finely honed, the intruder’s weapon slashes at her victim, severing its ties to this earth. Prize in hand, the yard ninja slips away.

The part of Sagami Hara I live in is full of foreigners. We are a very transient lot, especially over the summer months there is about a 30% turnover. When people move out, the landlord comes in and does repairs and clears the garden often destroying beautiful plants in the process. The yard ninjas sneak into the yards of recently vacated houses and appropriate the plants. There is an art to being a yard ninja and I have been lucky enough to be schooled by two of the best. First, you must case the joint in the daylight to be sure the occupants are truly gone and not just on vacation – this also allows you to pick in advance which plants suit your purposes. Then, after dark and dressed in dark colors you sneak out armed with your trowel and plastic bags or buckets (really audacious yard ninjas may also use a wagon). The best time is around 2300-2330. The national curfew for those 20 and below is 2300, so those people will be off the street by then, but it won’t be so late that a person out and about would arouse suspicion from the local police. The trick is not only to remove the chosen plants from the former neighbors yard without detection, but to get them planted in your own yard without it looking too obvious. Everyone knows that everyone else does it, but no one will say anything if you are slick.

My two friends are out of town, so I was on my own solo mission tonight. My yard is almost entirely shade and rather swampy most of the time, so hostas are about the only things that grow very well in it. Our near neighbor didn’t have any hostas, but she did have a few river rocks and those were my target. I psyched myself up for the mission by listening to my favorite spy jazz cd and spraying myself down against the ravages of the local tiger-stripe mosquito. After slipping out the back door, I hugged the shadows cast by my massive cherry tree. The last forty meters or so were open lot lit by a street lamp. I slowly low crawled to a stand of trees (I would have attempted the “sniper pancake” but the former occupants of the house had a Labrador – I didn’t want to “pancake” in a dropping.) I gathered my chosen stones under cover of cedar and prepared for the most dangerous part of the mission. Low-crawling with two buckets full of rocks would be impossible. I would have to cross the open area in a crouch and at a run. I steadied my breathing and found my center. I started out soundlessly enough, but in haste I forgot about the pipe cover which clanged loudly in the relative quiet (it is never truly quiet here). My heart was hammering as I peeked out from behind my tree – no one was looking. The stones are in my potting shed until the heat is off. The other yard ninjas will have no idea who it was who struck first. I came into the kitchen smudged and feeling pretty satisfied only to find my daughter staring at me with a mixture of disdain and dismay. Ah, but she is still young, she doesn’t yet understand hana-do, the way of the yard ninja.