Sam, I decided to work on that huge tree at the foot of the sledding hill. The one that was so engulfed in invasives, I told myself that I couldn’t save it. I recall standing at the bottom of that hill with you, your last summer alive, posting “No Hunting” signs together. The huge tree…a group of them, actually, each straining for light. Mulberry, Wild Cherry, Chestnut Oak, Burning Bush. Vines. I knew who was primary and who needed to go, but we couldn’t even get close to it without being shredded by the many, thorned thugs that planted themselves, so many years ago.
Surrounded by huge, old Multiflora rose bushes. Blackberry canes, Raspberry Canes, all co-mingled. Fierce, like friends with their arms wrapped around one anther, daring anyone to even try to come closer. Only birds and bunnies dare enter. We both shook our heads that day, looking up into the sun, to the top of that mess of trees and vines, eyes squinting. We laughed and said “No way” at the same time. No way…..I’m still saying that today, every day. NO WAY, IT CANNOT BE REAL THAT YOU HAVE DIED, SAM. No way.
Saving this big, old tree has been a process that started this past Spring. It was the last thing that I did before I slid into the darkness and went underwater, facing the anniversary of your death and every day that follows. On THAT beautiful Spring day I sat drinking coffe in your Forest, watching birds, wheelbarrow filled with my tools, contemplating the day’s work. I began staring at that tree. It seemed to call to me…..HELP!!!!! In that very moment, I descended the hill. With my feet, safe in Wellies and with shovel , I smashed through the thick, dense rose bushes. I believe they were quite shocked at my attack. I barely noticed the lashing they gave back to me. I was now, on a mission. Had a purpose….
Setting to work, a beginning. I cut each of the thugs at the base of the tree. Bittersweet, Honeysuckle, Grapevine, Poison Ivy so thick and furry it was almost animal like. Now circling this huge old tree, I think, this must be what it feels like to be a predator, with his prey in sight. I begin pruning out the smaller trees that were competing.
Wiping sweat from my eyes, I admire the view. My mind wanders off. Beside me, the sledding hill. I see you there, all of you. Flying down that hill squealing with joy. Making jumps, so much laughing and fun. Trudging back up with red cheeks and the biggest smiles. Dragging sleds and snowboards. OR NOT. Many times I’d come out to check on you and the sleds would lay strewn at the bottom or to the side as if you’d ALL VANISHED. In the distance I’d hear the laughing, you were off to your next adventure. I’d be the one dragging the sleds up that hill, swearing I’d never do it again. But I did, of course.
I hear a neighbor’s tractor start up nearby, it breaks the spell of memories, back to work. By days end I sat at the top of the hill admiring the crime scene I created below. Satisfied. Sunburned. Thorn bitten arms bleeding but I never noticed till then. Sorted piles, managable, dragging size piles, positioned to pull, dispursed here and there. Birds flying past, immediately realize the changes. They fly into the cut piles, grabbing bittersweet berries and rose hips.
As tall as the tree reached to the sky, wilted leaves hung from the day’s heat and my severing of their very life lines….close to the root. At that moment I knew I WOULD beat them, eventually. They wouldn’t scare me away, I’d fight.
The eradication of all of these invasives is a joke, truly, to anyone who is a seasoned gardener. We know, it is a continual process. It really doesn’t end. It’s a lot like grief. In the blink of an eye , you may, for a moment, think all is in control. You sink underwater and that honeysuckle will be back to the top of that tree. You get up again. You fight again. You can’t ignore it, not any of it. It will always be there with you. Patiently waiting for that opportunity, when you stand still ,so it can smother and strangle the very life out of you.
As I am now working on this area again, I have a plan for it. I have a purpose. That tree needs me. I know you are out there with me, my beautiful son. I see you flying past me on your dirtbike, negotiating the trails as I work. Closer and closer you’d come to me. Scaring me, yet I knew you’d never hit me. But as we all know, accidents happen. You, Sam, didn’t believe that was true for you. You were fearless, so capable, you could do anything and make it look easy. You believed yourself to be invincible. Everywhere I look I see you, Sam. So in a way, you were right. You will never leave me, I suppose you are invincible.
It will be a long process, but in the end, this new area of your Forest, it will be worth the poison ivy, the back ache, the cuts and scrapes along the way. It will remind me of our hikes through the woods your entire life. Adventures! Catching fireflies. Bonfires. Blowing Dandelions into the wind. Picking honeysuckle, drinking it’s lucious dew. Climbing trees and virtual mountains of moss covered boulders. Surprising a baby deer waiting for his Momma, the look on your face when you picked up that baby deer! The absolute magic of it all, in our former life. I was so lucky to be your mother and have such memories. At the end of our lives, what do we REALLY have that matters? Love and memories. The rest is meaningless.
One day in the future, walking through the paths of your Forest, people will come upon this big, old tree. Standing, long before we were. Beneath it, an unexpected discovery, in the middle of nowhere. An enchanting area to imagine and explore, what could be, that we don’t see. Like happening upon a fox den , filled with babies when you were bending to pick a daisy.
Kelly Williams, Lost Mother in the woods 