Memories of childhood repeatedly drift into my consciousness as I run the tractor through the overwhelming growth. The landscape is rather different now, having long ago been cleared of the tangle of Christmas Berry trees. It is now a large pasture that has been taken over by weeds and small trees, which I am attempting to clear, perhaps an attempt to clear my own mind of it’s conflicting thoughts of hope and distress. There is great satisfaction in the physical nature of this task, momentarily distracting me from the clutter of my mind. However, the respite is brief, for as I toil bits of my past surface, in particular vivid memories of my youth on this land.
There is the playful scene of my brothers and I with our Tonka Trucks working a pile of dirt. Another image of making our way through the dark web of the Christmas Berry trees, reminiscent of a dark forest in a Disney film, with touches of foreboding and loneliness. Those were times with little thought to the future; I was very much in the present, drinking in the glory of the land, both joyful and fearful. Now, I am somewhat consumed with what is to come, as I contemplate how to make a living, and debate what role I shall play in the world. I am in a state of limbo and feel a contradiction in both my mental and physical being, momentarily impervious to outside forces, then soon after completely exposed and sensitive to all that surrounds me. My naive belief that I am stable and well grounded is shattered with thoughts of doubt, just as this powerful tractor can suddenly be stopped in it’s tracks by a large clump of cane grass, high-centering the machine. I may be able to free it with the manipulation of the front bucket, pushing down, lifting the front of the tractor as I reverse and free myself from the grasp of this tenacious grass. This is not always a successful strategy; sometimes the culprit must be dealt with more severely. A chainsaw is an effective tool in shearing through the dense matter of the lower regions of the plant.
These past 46 years I have been both the occasional witness and participant in the transformation of this place. Jerry was certainly the main architect, introducing the various forces that have acted on the land, which include my mother, my brothers, a bull-dozer or two, numbers of goats, horses, ducks, dogs, and a donkey.
In that first year or two, we planted eucalyptus trees along the north side of the driveway. In hindsight, a poor decision as they became a hazard in later years, sometimes dropping branches on the power lines, and one very large tree toppling over. This 80 foot tree, did manage to avoid the power lines, instead falling in the opposite direction onto the cleared field. The large rootball broke up the concrete drive as it rose in opposition to the falling tree, and now anchors the fallen tree to it’s new location, horizontally settled into the earth.
This is it’s current state, a situation that has my attention as I contemplate the tree’s removal. I am well aware that this task will require many hours of chain saw work, not to mention the challenge of first exposing the tree, for much of it’s trunk and several large branches are obscured by vines and other weeds. I shall soon begin this labor of freeing the pasture of this burden. Of course, this has become an aesthetic goal, as the pasture no longer houses goats, horses, donkeys, or any other domesticated animals. However, the tree has become an eye sore, breaking up the smooth flowing hillside with a tangle of growth inaccessible to the tractor. Last year Jerry came too close to the hidden beast while mowing, with the result of the tractor sliding into several of it’s hidden branches, trapping the tractor in it’s clutches. Fortunately, I was there to assist, cutting away the limbs with my chainsaw. We eventually freed the machine, though it did not escape without injury, the steering wheel rather severely bent, but otherwise unharmed.
Despite the massive size of the fallen tree, it is not the most prominent feature of the place. That distinction goes to the large stand of bamboo on the lower part of the lot. In my late 20’s, I assisted in the planting of this, with this massive grass now reaching heights over 70 feet high. The plan was to create a screen, blocking the view of the neighbor’s homes below. It was quite effective, perhaps more so than one would’ve hoped, as the screen managed to obscure the view of sections of shoreline miles below. The bamboo is quite impressive, in addition to it’s height, it presents a rich, dark green wall, made more so from the unusually heavy rains this past year.
The bamboo also makes it’s presence known through a variety of sounds, intimating complexity and secrets within it’s structure. There is the whispering of the leaves when a breeze passes through, telling any that listen that all is good, all while the creaking and cracking sounds tell a different story, one of change, resistance, and possible doom. The friction of the large poles rubbing against one another emit squeaks and groans, some loud, others softly announcing the strife within. Often the voices sound human, expressing themselves from the confines of the green prison bars, giving words of warning to those entering the space. The ominous tone could well be the product of one’s imagination, for it can quickly turn to happy hints of hope, or solemn wisdom being given with good intent. Like most situations, it is what you bring that colors the experience, and perhaps my present state of being is just reflected by the land.