To Tacky - With Love.

Sometimes it's fun to take a ride around town just looking at the different ways people choose to ornament their yards. Here in northeast Pennsylvania, people decorate for every holiday - so at Halloween we see little paper napkin ghosts hanging from the tree branches, then colored eggs at Easter, and paper hearts for Valentine's Day. Given our large Irish population, the St. Patrick's Day displays can sometimes boggle the mind. But I can deal with these because they are done in a spirit of holiday fun. And they are only temporary.

What really boggles my mind are the more permanent displays of yard art - the bendover plywood cutouts of the backsides of fat women in spotted bloomers, the gigantic classical statue (in concrete) in front of a tiny clapboard house, a plethora of wishing wells and water wheels and whirligigs. Things that move and are extremely brightly colored seem especially popular - one can get dizzy simply watching.

It's not the art, or even the level of taste displayed here that boggles me - it's the fact that people paid good money for this - and obviously love it.

I'm not exactly immune - I have a garden path lined with gazing balls in ascending heights. I know people who think gazing balls are the height of tacky. I happen to love them - they make me think of many things - old fishing floats, crystal balls, witches balls - the gazing ball has a certain romance for me that many ornaments lack. And (listen to me making excuses!) mine are not mirrored - they are clear, amethyst colored blown glass, tucked into a garden that is all silver foliage and pink and amethyst colored flowers. (Or will be when the plants start to grow.) Quite tasteful really. (I think. . .)

As I am all too aware, anyone who puts something out for the entire public to see is laying their taste on the line. It's out there for all to see - and to judge. If the Tacky Yard Art contests of years past are any indication, the judgment is often a harsh one. But before we judge too hastily, let's look at one or two yard decorations that have stories behind them'

The first - one that I objected to strenuously at first - was in my own yard. A visiting 5-year old heard his dad mention going to a beer garden. Imagine what a beer garden must have meant to a young child. Kevin looked at the beer cans the guys were emptying, and, as fast as they were drained, picked them up and carried them off. The guys thought he was taking them to our recycling container. Only later did we see his handiwork - a "garden" of carefully arranged beer cans. I was in a tidying mood, ready to uproot them and take them to the bin - but my husband stayed my hand.

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