Clearing Ivy

The ivy on March 30th this spring.

Behind our house is an ivy patch that has slowly taken over the better part of the woods bordering our entire backyard.  Long before we arrived, someone decided that disposing of a hanging planter of ivy in the woods seemed reasonable.  "Why not?  It is just one small container of leaves," I can imagine them thinking.  (In fact, I would come to learn there were several dumped back there.)

But ivy has a plan of its own.  Kind of like the chores lurking in the back of our minds, left untended the ivy grew.  And grew, and then grew some more.  I can also imagine at this point the perpetrator rationalized, "Well, it does look pretty back there all covered in green shiny leaves.  What could possibly be wrong with that."  An so the ivy had no enemies, natural or otherwise, as the rabbits and squirrels did not seem to eat it.  The deer strolled through without even pausing.  Even insects ignored it, except for spiders that made good use of its leaves to build wonderful homes.

Only the cedar trees sighed, as the ivy greedily soaked up the summer rain.  With their deep roots, the trees adapted and survived until the ivy decided to climb their majestic trunks.  Now a battle was declared between the helpless trees and the voracious ivy.  Up the ivy climbed, higher and higher, wrapping its strangle hold about the trees.

But the trees had a friend in me.  Knowing their ultimate fate, I set about the task of freeing them from their enemy.  The neighbors might have thought me an insane old lady pulling out that ivy hour after hour down to the roots until I could see only the floor of the forest.  But the forest breathed in relief in the shade of the afternoon, and blessed me with a breeze.  Eventually my aching muscles thanked me for the opportunity to move, and my frozen shoulder gained more mobility.  Everyone was winning except the ivy.

But ivy is persistent.  It did not want to give up, and kept creeping back up from hidden roots revealing its position on the frontline of our mutual war.  Repeated attacks on my part have almost defeated it now (as long as I am vigilant.) I know one day I will ultimately pull the very last living root of it, because I did not give up, even when my body said, "No more!"

I like to think of the ivy as a metaphor for whatever struggle or goal in one's life that seems to be insurmountable.  I realize even the highest achievement or the most difficult struggle has an endpoint, if pursued diligently, by hour and by day, until the last remaining hurdle has been cleared away.

This is the forest months later on July 12th.