And to my left…were leaves. Until a couple of hours ago.
I posted before about my new reading and writing spot. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love my kitchen desk. I spend hours a day sitting there. One thing I really love about it is that to my right is the view out the back door to the back yard and to my left is the view out the front door and window. When I open all the windows and let the breeze in through the screens it feels like I’m working outdoors.
Only one problem. Out the front door all I could see was my giant burning bushes. I’ve referenced them and their reaching for the stars eagerness before.
I said their days were numbered. Turns out today was day zero.
I was typing away on my laptop, looked to my left and said, out loud, to nobody, “All. I. Can. See. Is. That. BUSH! That’s it.”
I took a before picture.
Posted the following on my Facebook page.
“In my usual spur of the moment, this is bugging me, time to take action style, I’m tired of this giant bush being the only thing I can see out my front door while I sit at my kitchen desk. I’m going to grab my loppers and chop its head off. Don’t care what it looks like from the outside, just want my view back. (Please ignore the piles of junk in the foreground, they figure into a post I’m writing.) Be back later with an after pic!”
And I was off to the races.
I started out with loppers and cut off a few minor branches. Then my so-called logical brain took over. I could make 800 tiny lops and end up with 800 tiny pieces to pick up. OR I could delve into the underbelly of my twin beasts with the many heads and start slicing and dicing where the sun don’t shine (literally).
My initial plan was to just take care of the top leaves so I had a better view. I wasn’t in the mood to get dirty and sweaty. Two minutes in, a branch had slapped me in the neck and I was pretty sure something was crawling in my hair. It was clear the “I don’t want to wash my hair again today” ship had sailed. Might as well go all in.
I remembered a hand saw I used to use on projects in the basement when I was a kid with time on her hands and a burgeoning model train village to create.
I found the saw.
I’m no lumberjack, but I definitely held my own in the battle of the branches.
I’m sure my technique was not by the book. For instance…
“Don’t stand underneath the limb you are sawing through.”
I imagine that must be one of the first rules of felling trees.
Right below, “Saws are sharp”.
And right above, “Beware giant ants and spiders”.
Don’t worry. I managed to get out of the way of or catch with my left hand all branches that were aiming for my head.
Here are a few other general guidelines I assume must be mentioned in the “How To Fell A Tree (Or Giant Bush)” handbook. Or if they’re not listed, they should be.
“Wear socks.” Bugs bite. And they live in bushes.
“Don’t clock yourself in the jaw with a five-inch-diameter limb when untangling it and tossing it over the stair railing.”
“Be sure to clean up your scrapes and scratches in a timely manner.” I managed to emerge from the jungle with two cuts, three scrapes, and a bruise. And I’m sure my jaw is going to be worse for the wear tomorrow.
“Sweat burns when it’s rolling into your eye, but don’t let go of the saw.”
“If it took you five minutes to saw through it, it’s probably heavy.” Put down the saw before trying to pitch the limb one handed over the stair railing.
And now, by far, the most important rules of all…
“When you’re knee deep in the jaws of bush number two and your awesome next door neighbors appear out of nowhere, like angels with a chainsaw, and ask you, ‘What the heck do you think you’re doing?’, then offer to apply said chainsaw to the remaining trunks, SAY YES!”
“When those same awesome neighbors offer to load up and haul away in their pickup truck the aftermath of the bush brawl, SAY YES!”
“And pay them for their time, effort, muscle, and generosity. Even when they refuse to take your money.” Thank them profusely. Shove cash in their hands. Tell them to enjoy a nice evening on you. When they try to give the money back to you, tell them it’s to pay for gas for the two trips they’ll make to haul everything away (and for all the snow shoveling and yard mowing they do for you) and you won’t sleep at night, if they don’t take it. Then run away, so they can’t give it back. That’s what I did.
The sun is out and there is now light coming through my open door!
By the way, you’ll notice in just this picture of my living room alone, five “pick me, pick me” to do items vying for my attention. Unfinished trim on the window we replaced several years ago, front door I want to paint, broken front storm door that I want to replace with a screen door so I can get a cross breeze, patched nail holes in the walls that are waiting to be painted a new color, piles of possessions I’m culling through for another planned blog post.
Oh, this house is a cornucopia of potential projects just waiting for me to hit my breaking point with any one of them on any given day. Planning is overrated.
I gotta go. I’ve still got leaf buds to get out of my hair.