Once a year in spring I clean up the thick carpet of pine needles under the line of pine trees in my yard. They suffocate the earth until nothing but the most tenacious weeds can grow there. Cleaning the pine needles is hard work and at the end of many hours there is nothing much to see other than the ground being visible once again. I walk away tired and somewhat satisfied and the pine cones continue to fall, the trees have mostly greened by now.
This annual ritual reminds of the changes that this part of my yard has gone through over the years and how each phase of its existence was deeply entwined with my own life's ebb and tide. J's middle school years left me with absolutely no discretionary time. There was a guy who cut the grass to keep the place from turning completely wild. Every once in a great while I would trim some bushes. The line of pine trees had been overcome by some invasive brush that grew furiously all around the trees, giving them no room to breathe.
High school was easier on my schedule because she drove and got to places on her own but mentally I was more preoccupied than ever - college and adulthood was looming in the horizon. Then there was college and learning to make sense of my empty nest, loss of purpose, struggling to make sense of the person that was once my child. That was when I started spending more time doing yardwork, growing herbs and the like. I imagine that is the rite of passage for many parents in that situation. Then she starts working and I see her very little of her - this is not something I had been prepared for but learn to take in stride. The pine trees get a new lease of life - the brush takes several months to clear but we get it done in the end. One year we collect a crop of wonderful wild mushrooms that grow under the pines.
It is hugely satisfying to see the before and after pictures of that line of trees but amusing to think how no one would notice or care - maybe the trees are happier and that counts. J has now moved to another city with a new job and we are much further apart than before - the pines needles have been cleaned regularly, the house is leftovers from times past, a place that has little practical relevance to our lives as it is now. But when I send J pictures of the lilies blooming in the yard, she is delighted. This is still home for her until she makes her own or so I imagine.
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