Learn the tale of our intrepid author battling vicious vines and aggressive poison ivy to free an old fig tree from their clutches
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| Beneath The Fig Tree |
| A few months ago, I started cleaning out an old fig tree in my backyard. |
| It had become overgrown with jasmine vines and poison ivy during the thirty years that my husband's grandparents lived here, and it was struggling to survive. Dressed for battle in a long-sleeve, button down shirt, overalls tucked into socks, work boots, and heavy leather gloves, I began work on the outside, snipping and hacking away with my pruning shears. |
| After about an hour, I had a pile of vines waist high and as big around as the tree itself, but it seemed that I had made almost no progress. Frustrated, I sat down to have a glass of water. The tangled mess of branches and opportunistic plants stared me down. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the sun in defiance. |
| An old memory came into my mind of sunlight filtering its way through leaves. I was ten, and I was sitting beneath a mammoth fig tree in a friend's backyard. She was twelve and on the swim team with me. We were eating the just ripened fruit, cross-legged in our bathing suits, waiting for her mom to finish with the dishes so we could go to practice. We were laughing about something I can't remember now. |
| I remember that moment under that tree as a moment of respite, a small instance of absolute peace in the half-wild garden of my consciousness. I smile, finish the last of my water, and get back to work. |
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