Clearing a path

Surrounding a small lake at the end of our property is a path that I walk frequently, partly for exercise, but mostly to clear my mind. It helps to feel less hazy and more focused. Lately, it’s been overgrown with vines and branches that have made it nearly impassable. It’s been a full week since I’ve put one foot in front of the other around the tree canopied path. The quest for clarity and intention has been stifled by the overgrowth.

Today, however, I am taking action.

I pull on my work boots, grab some gardening gloves and branch clippers, then walk three acres through the yard, still wet from morning dew that makes the freshly cut grass cling to my boots like damp, green confetti. A rooster crows in the distance. Three of my dogs stand guard at their boundary line, curious that I’m deviating from the normal routine. Usually, I’m sitting on the back porch this time of day with a cup of Stronger Girl coffee and my laptop open. But, the call to the overgrown forest path is almost magnetic, and the attraction of clearing it is greater than my need for caffeine. There have been a few obstacles in my life lately that I need to remove, not just the windy vine type. When these obstacles are allowed to grow wild in your mind, it seems like a thick jungle is threatening to trip and strangle you. When your spiritual pathway is cluttered, so are a lot of other things. 

I’m tired of feeling cluttered.

Queen Anne’s lace punctuates the banks of the struggling lake like little white question marks asking why it doesn’t hold water like it should. It could be beautiful if it would allow itself to be filled. Recent downpours in the last week, however, show promise of its potential. Honeysuckle, wild blackberry and red trumpet vines cover the surrounding foliage like a loosely crocheted blanket of summer scents and colors. I take a deep breath and soak it in. There’s a heaviness in the sky. It’s full of dense clouds that threaten rain. The pink globe of the newly risen sun peeks through an opening above tall forest oaks and pines, creating a contrast between dark and light. Frogs splash like drum beats the closer I approach my target. It’s my pregame fight song.

I raise the branch clippers and attack the first overhanging vine I see, realizing this job is going to be harder than I imagined. The left handle of the clippers gives way on the first attempted cut, mocking me for even trying this task. I steady the dangling right side and fasten the handle back on, resisting the urge to feel defeated. I regret that my ex-husband was the first one to forage through the storage shed, claiming the best tools for himself, but I’m determined not to give up. I was the recipient of the leftover tools, the ones that were old and dull and in need of fixing. Those were tossed aside for the newer, seemingly sharper tools I guess. It’s all I have to work with. This pair of clippers. 

I yank and pull on a thick branch, twisting it to reveal its spaghetti-like insides. It dares me to keep tugging, taunting that it’s not giving up without a fight. After a few more full-weighted tugs, I finally succeed, stumbling back a little as the tree forfeits. I tackle the next one more confidently. The handle slips again, but I’m making progress and the momentum feels good. I gather my kill and drag it to the downhill opening near the fence of the property. Then, I sling it as far as I can. The heaving of it feels good. 

I am reintroduced to something strong inside me. I grab the clippers firmly, aware of the faulty handle, navigating it more successfully to crunch down on a mimosa tree branch. It splits in one quick cut. I’m getting the hang of this. Birds chatter overhead, seemingly talking about all this yanking, pulling and crunching like sports anchors analyzing the game at halftime. Two bunnies zig zag when they hear me grunt and tug my next foliage victim. I turn around and admire my progress. The path is brighter without the overhanging branches. This fuels my second wind and I continue cutting and discarding. 

Finally, I decide the path is cleared enough to get the lawn mower through without the threat of scratchy, poisonous vines and spidery branches blocking the route. I drag the clippers behind me a bit to catch my breath and make my way around the lake. Sweat slivers down the back of my neck. I feel sticky, but productive.  I cut a few stalks of Queen Anne’s lace for souvenirs. As I walk back to the house, I gather everything beautiful I see along the way for a bouquet. The white hydrangeas are in full bloom, as are some beautiful red Canna lilies that grow tall and sturdy against the white brick of the side of the house. It will be a celebration bouquet I decide. I’ve used the tool that was discarded and left behind for the task of creating light and space. It wasn’t broken. I just needed to learn how to use it, despite the flaws. 

I decide to walk that path every morning for the next month. I also decide to sharpen those clippers. 

Enough with all the obstacles. I have the tools I need to tear them down. 

Essay Epilogue

The day after I clear the path a friend reaches out, asking if she could stop by the house for a hug. I’m at the dentist's office with my daughter when I receive her text. She’s the kind of friend who has been there for me, and I want to be there for her. I text back, telling her when I’ll be home. She arrives as she always does … nicely dressed and smiling, despite whatever is behind that smile. I pour a small glass of wine and we talk through the highlights of what’s going on. She needs a distraction, so I invite her to take a walk with me around the lake. She accepts.

This friend has been to my house many times but didn’t remember the wanna-be-lake that borders the property. I tell her about my obsessive trimming adventure from the day before and we set out together, promising the dogs we’ll be right back. We walk the path twice, deep in conversation. Her steps are quicker than mine. It seems like she’s eager to put one foot in front of the other too. It also seems as if there may have been another reason why I cut that path yesterday. And, that’s when I realize what’s so obvious.

When we clear the path for ourselves, we clear the path for others to come into our world when they need to. And, also, when we need them to. Life isn’t meant to be a solo journey. Perhaps all the cutting and trimming we do in our lives is so we can have more room to walk alongside others.