Overgrown hedges need to be cut out

Last week, I read that overgrown shrubs and hedges need to be cut to the ground and dug up. It is best to start with young, new plants. This was sad news to me. I had trimmed the row of hedges at the street to waist high, but I stopped there. It was safe; I thought it would give me more options. Now, I know that I have to cut them down and take them out. I don’t want to do it. It was much more comfortable knowing no one could see in. The moment I cut them down, I’ll have to admit that the hedges I have grown around my heart can’t just be trimmed down to a decent height either. I am going to have to cut them down and dig them out the root.

I don’t know exactly what that means, I just know it scares me. Deep inside, I want to be openly in the light. I don’t just want the light to bask the tip top of my life, I want my whole body to see and feel the warmth, the love. I want the light to penetrate my heart.

All morning, I’ve tried to keep my gaze off the hedges, but my eyes keep going to them. I am trying to get my courage up to cut them down. I keep hearing in my head all the reasons for not doing it. Finally, I know it is time. If I don’t do it now, I will have to live with a whole bunch of should haves. I grab the chain saw and head up the hill. I start intentionally cutting each stalk as close to the ground as I can. It is hard. At times, I think I am going to be sick, but maybe it is the heat. And then, it is done.

I step across the street to look at my trimmed property. I know that the glass is half full folks would say it looks clean now. To tell you the truth, it looks barren and vulnerable to me. My heart sinks a little. I know that’s how I will feel. I am also glad. I can take a photo of it with the 4th of July flag. The boy scouts will be along any time to collect it. It makes it not so barren.

Later in the evening, I run an errand. When I return to the house, I am amazed at how open and inviting my land looked, almost like a park. More than anything, it looks normal. I think this is what I intended to do all along; cut the front hedge so everyone could enjoy my property. My plan was to leave it in place until everything behind it was perfect. I am afraid that is what I am doing in my life. I am existing in a comfortable place until I was strong enough, bright enough to blossom into the world. My property has taught me to live in a ‘safe’, ‘comfortable’ world, you don’t have the resources to really grow, your roots can’t take hold to keep you steady and you become worthless as you stretch yourself so thin to reach the light. And only the top catches the light. To really grow, to really blossom, I need all parts of me to bask in the light.

Even more, I would have never seen the landscaping possibilities for my land if I hadn’t taken the hedge down first.

Now I have the courage to clear at the street to the property line. I don’t know how long it will take or what I will be facing to complete the task.

The planets have aligned

One day in the midst of considering how to make my home, property and myself more inviting, how to be a good steward of my land, how to increase my physical activity, the planets must have aligned and I received a letter from the city. Letters from the city are never good news. Often they remind me of something I know that needs to be done, but I haven’t gotten around to. This letter was different. The city had bought a new fire truck that was 2 feet taller than the current ordnance allowed the trees to hang over the street. In other words, they can’t get the truck down most of the older streets. They asked us to trim our trees as soon as we could. Working on my property became my next project. I started out to just trim at the street, but once I started clearing, I couldn’t stop. Most everyday I try to spend some time working on the land. As I cleared the overgrowth, I also started learning about my life.

People ask me how far I am going with this clearing project. I don’t know. Maybe it is until I can’t clear anything else. Maybe it will be until it is just too hot. I will know when it is enough for a while.

You would think that this would be a project without supervision. I don't think you can do anything without supervision. Rusty, the cat, who believes he owns the property is my supervisor. He always near, sometimes too close to the street for me. He listens to all the sounds, checks how the breeze is moving leaves, and often disappears into the forest. Amazingly, the moment I stop for a break he pops out of the woods.

(time frame June)

Increasing my physical activity

Then there was the diabetes diagnosis. My triglycerides have always been higher than normal. Since the chemo, nothing has seemed to phase the counts. With my April cholesterol check, the counts were high enough to trigger the diabetes switch. In reading about diabetes and talking with my doctors, I decided that the best thing I could do to prevent the increased blood sugar was to increase my physical activity. Working on clearing my land every day would be a great way to increase my physical activity.

Being a good stewart

In this same time period, a reoccurring theme has been appearing in my Bible studies, that of being a good steward of God’s creation. It is easy to adopt a universal approach to nature. The world is as God intended it. (The thought terrifies me just to write it.) God did not intend for life on earth to just exist, growing wild. God intended for life to be nurtured, loved and cared for. It began to weigh on me that this included my property.

The light in my forest

My land is composed of 2 acres of overgrown forest. It is one of several lots on my street that you can’t see the houses from the street. I was intrigued by the mystery of not knowing what was down the driveway. My house sets in the middle of the 2 acres. Each room has large windows that allow you to have a panoramic view of 2 sides of the forest. There is very little evidence of the surrounding suburb. You can almost believe that the birds and occasional small animals scurrying around were the only neighbors. And somewhere in the sounds and colors of nature bouncing through the trees, you overwhelmed with a sense of life. The sounds always take me back to the hot days of summer church camp in Cedar Hill. While it is memories of being hot and miserable, they are always outweighed by the tremendous sense of peace and tranquility that comes from being aware of being in the center of God’s creation. It is a sound that made me think the trees were so hot that their branches and leaves could only creek in pain. It is possible that it certain type of bird or the chirping of crickets, but whatever it is my property is full of it. And the afternoons on my land can take me back to those childhood afternoons of peace.

But it is the light that really intrigues me. Light that filters through the trees to the bottom of the forest. Light that makes every leaf, every limb, every branch, unique, vital, alive. In the summer, there are thousands of greens against lines of brown. It makes me want to take needle and yarn and fill a canvas of hundreds of green loops. In the hottest part of the summer and through the fall, the colors change, the cedars hold on their green as the other greens fade away. Eventually the greens have become oranges and then they are gone. In the winter, the light drops through a back drop of brown limbs and branches. The darkness of the trees is so stark against the winter light. At first, my eyes are captivated by how quickly the light is dropping to the floor of the forest. My line of sight never reaches the forest floor: it always caught by the bare limbs and driven upward, upward in praise. There are those rare winter days that water freezes on the limbs and my forest becomes a brilliant field of diamonds blowing in the wind.

It is not only the light from the sun that creates the palate of my forest. Each cycle of the moon through each season the year leaves each own highlights on the forest. Night after night I watch as the moonlight moves up and down, side to side in my forest. During the full moon my forest is a very dark place.

(time frame May-June)

I recently embarked on a project to clear my land.

I recently embarked on a project to clear my land. It is part of an overall project to take my property, the house and the grounds, into my home, my land. I started last August. It has been a daunting project. I changed the function of almost every room in the house. Each furniture move and paint stroke has made the house more comfortable. My goal is for people, including me, to feel invited to enter and relax. I haven’t exactly finished anything. I reached a point just before Christmas that I could stop the interior work and host a few parties. When I was ready to return to work after Christmas, I realized it was winter and I needed to work in the garage while it was cooler. Every year I have waited until summer and then the heat makes working in the garage unbearable. Each week of the winter and early spring, I sorted through clutter in the house and garage. I gave away stuff; filled trash cans and recycle buckets. Still, there is so much more.

It has been a painful process. Sometimes it has been physically painful, like the day I stepped off the second rung of the ladder onto a concrete floor, once for each leg. Most of the time, it has been emotionally painful for me. Can I dare to color the walls with paint? Can I dare to move large pieces of furniture? Can I throw away what I don’t need? Why is every item a battle? Can I dare to pull order out of the chaos of my life. Each stroke of color has encouraged me; each bag of trash removed has made it easier for me to breathe. This spring, as I was ready to get back to the interior decorating, things happened that made me turn my focus to my property.
I love my property. My house sets in the middle of 2 acres of heavily wooded land. Some of the wood is trees. Some of it is overgrown privet hedge. The back of my land slopes down to the clearing where the house sets, then down to the creek that runs when it rains, and then rises to meet the street. My driveway weaves through the trees that line its sharp drop to the creek and quick rise to the garage. The view from the street is just a concept of the drop to the creek, but leaves everything else to your imagination. My brother moved to this street first. I was drawn to the mystery of the forest every time I drove by. Even now sitting in the midst of the forest, I can hear the persistent call of a bird and wonder where is he and who is he calling?

My last house was on a city lot, in the middle of an ordinary neighborhood, not far from a busy street and the high school football stadium. From my bedroom, I could hear my neighbor’s phone ring. Cars, sirens and traffic noise were always in the background. The windows were small. The house was always dark. Outside, there was always a haze of artificial light. Yet, my house was always full of life. There always seemed to be a reason to invite people over. And the people came, and usually in large numbers.

Then I moved to my sanctuary, my special place, and the people stopped coming.

Slowly some of my braver friends dropped hints that my driveway was intimidating. They weren’t quite sure which driveway was mine. What if it wasn’t the right driveway? Would they be able to turn around? To my surprise, they didn’t find the mystery of my land intriguing at all.

Here is a secret. Until yesterday, it was a secret to me too. I would have been frightened by the driveway, too.

And as I ponder my unapproachable property, I have to wonder is this a reflection of my life. (time frame Sept-June)