“I don’t think that look very good”
This is how it always starts, with a casual comment from my loved one, suggesting that a landscape change be implemented. In this case the subject of her casual comments was about 200 square feet of Juniper plants. The principle objection expressed was that the garden appears too green, I pointed out that the brown spots of dead grass on the front lawn afforded some nice contrast but this comment was not well received.
It was pointed out to me that if the juniper was removed we might install some colorful plants in their place. I suggested that we should leave a border of the hardy shrubbery to provide a decorative band between the azaleas and the colorful plants, the species of which had yet to be decided. After a microseconds consideration this idea was also rejected. All of the juniper had to go.
At first I didn’t much like the idea of digging up what must be upwards of one hundred and fifty plants, after all my mission of late was to get things to grow not tear perfectly good plants out of the ground. But then an idea struck me. I could transplant them onto the bank where the dead hydrangeas lived, to replace the loriope that I would remove to create a lawn border; this would have the added advantage of supplying so much ground cover there.
So the very next morning at first light, before I had an opportunity to change my mind I stepped outside to begin.
It was now the end of August, and the temperature was a refreshing eighty five degrees so I prepared my customary gallon of iced lemonade picked up a small hand trowel and set forth. I stood a few yards distant and visualized the finished project. I find that this helps tremendously. Not only does it provide the necessary encouragement to continue, but it allows you to form a ‘plan of attack.” In this case, contrary to my wife’s drastic strategy, I would remove most of the Juniper but still leave my decorative border. I felt sure that I would be able to convince her that this was the right approach.
I approached the edge of the planting and lifted a tendril to find the root but alas no root was visible. I lifted higher but still could not ascertain the point at which the course shrub sprang from the earth. I next grabbed the branch with both hands and raised it as high as I comfortable could. It was heavier than I expected, and seamed only to be connected to other juniper branches. This mystified me and gave cause to reformulate my plan. I would take the finger crushers and chop away some of the larger parts until the root became visible. With each passing hour the branches became thicker and more resilient to the finger crushers efforts, but my trustee tool and I battled on, cutting our way through the offending tangled growth. And still no roots visible.
It was about one thirty in the afternoon when exhausted and drenched in sweat I collapsed next to my empty lemonade jug. My muscles ached, my hands were sore and in many places skinless, my head ached and my back seemed to be telling me that we would never walk upright again.
I have often found that when life has delivered all of the hardship and frustration that it seems the human spirit can endure, it is only then that a glimmer of hope is revealed, not to torment you with the idea that you will live on to continue cutting Juniper, but to give support and hope and just enough positive fortification to make you feel some sense of achievement, so that renewed with energy you are driven on to complete the task. In this case as I lay face down on the dirt sucking huge quantities of air into my burning lungs, the glimmer of hope came in the form of a ground level view of the juniper plantation’s underside, and there in the shaded gloom I could just make out the shape of a root. Energy rushed back into my lifeless form and I dragged myself up to carry on.
By the time the sun set, I had made significant progress, and stepped back to admire my accomplishment. I was standing on the very spot that I had occupied that same morning while performing my visualization exercise. Then the sight before me was of a sprawling field of Juniper, now the juniper leaves and branches were gone, and all that remained were three massive trunk like root systems protruding from the uneven dirt. Each trunk was a tangled and twisted conglomeration of roots with some pieces as thick as my weak and trembling legs.
I stumbled into the house and collapsed into a deep sleep, the last thing I remember thinking before I drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep was “thank goodness the difficult part is over.”
Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE
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