Growing Like Weeds

I’m afraid to admit how many trees and shrubs we’ve removed from around our house. It started innocently enough: the hedge in front of the bay window became infested and hollowed out in a single season. One day it was a manicured rectangle of greenery, adding symmetry and an element of unnatural perfection to our front yard. Then our new neighbors began contracting work to remove trees from their lot. It only inspired us to do the same. This is where suburbia meets self-reflection: they didn’t wait until they moved in to clear the land. Overgrown yet landscaped, blooming flowers and supple vines—gone. Before they brought in furniture or added what I’m sure will be tasteful décor, they set themselves on a clear path. Literally.

I am not a horticulturist or even a natural landscape advocate. I’m simply a neighbor watching a busy flock of working men saw, pull, gather, and feed branch after branch into the chipper—thinking how much I admire our neighbors’ foresight.

My husband and I didn’t have the wherewithal to preemptively remove ongoing obligations from our lives when we bought our first house. We planted shrubs to water, bought furniture to clean, adopted a dog to walk, a cat with a litterbox to empty, and clothes to wash. Had we shown up to work naked, pet-free, and furnitureless, we’d have been on the news. Instead, we accumulated things and lives to care for—enhancements we didn’t yet know how to maintain.

So we lobbed on. One Tuesday, I waved down the head of the tree-removal crew—shouting “¡Jefe!”—and began deleting. Shrubs that had grown prickly, vines that had rooted underground, a tree that pushed up part of our walkway and trespassed across property lines—tall enough to interfere with the telephone wires above.

I’m still learning to delete without replacing (underwear excluded). But for now, I can admit to following by example. Whether I label it “starting fresh,” “living lean,” or any other idiom for subtracting from the hemisphere of continuing obligations, I recognize how much is gained by community. Even in absence, I’ve learned something about togetherness.