Digging Up The Roots

Woke with a foggy head and a left over buzz hangover from staying up too late and watching black and white television after the game that was not the last. Stumbled in to make some hot water turn dark then sit in front of the screen when I hear this truck coming down the alley. I’d not received a call but maybe this was the second part to the guys who looped down some wood earlier in the week. Looking out the window there he was. A guy was in the yard opening the gate. How did he get in the fortress? I normally put locks on all the gates, but there he was. I whip on some trousers and slip into some slippers to confront this invader. A young burley man with a long red beard was staring at the ground when I approached. “I didn’t get a call?” I questioned but was relieved he was there. He checked my request and was told of a power line not explained in the quote and was left alone to do his work. I went back inside glad this was going to begin and end but there was no noise. Even the new double pane windows should make some reverberations to a power tool, but there was nothing. By the time I decided to get fully dressed and comb and brush and shake off the cobweb, the gate was shut and he was gone. First of the month so I still have to go out and pay my bills and replenish the critter’s grub. I pull my pony out as the sun starts to break the clouds. The air seems to refresh my head and I got back to my usual routine without wondering where the red beard had gone. Seemed like more traffic than usual or just suspicion of the ‘terror’ attack from the previous day. Always cautious I can wait. Mailed my envelopes and found my supplies for the day to notice long lines at the check out. I can wait, so I venture back and forth through the aisles until the traffic jams cease. By now the ride home was more than refreshing in the cool air and clear skies. Peering down the alley, the truck had not returned. “Maybe it had come and gone again or maybe it won’t come back”, I thought. Put out the critter banquet and went in to stare at a lighted screen showing me what I already knew. Then I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel and the root slayer had returned. The monster grinder the size of a tank compared to my wimpy tiller squeezed through the gate with inches to spare. I again established boundary lines and what I want to accomplish and he and his machine were free to desecrate the ground. I went back insider my haven listening to the motor and the grinding and drinking one after another. I repeat myself when I’m distressed. I repeat myself when I’m distressed. Then it was lights out. The red beard had hit the extension line and I was left in the dark. Put another ‘to-do’ project on the list. As I close the gate I’m left with piles of dirt and a few lasting stumps. As anticipated with some raking to do tomorrow and a phone call to make but today is left to finish another project. The trellis comes down along with miles of intertwined wines. As I fill the trash receptacles I ponder the fact that I am undoing what has taken years of planting and patient weaving of live plants building shelter for birds and shade for the back porch. “Simplify your life,” I kept telling myself as reasoning for the destruction of a true artist. At the end of the day it is porch time with music from a slab of glass and a tin of burp juice. Several people (neighbors?) walk by unaware of what had happened today. The battle with the grasses will continue but the war of emotions never ends.