Last week I cut down a tree and dug out the stump. It wasn't a huge tree, a small misshapen yew with a trunk about 6" around. It wasn't a good looking tree and it was too close to the house. For several years I said I was going to take that tree out and replace it with some flowering shrubs. One day I was talking with a neighbor in the yard and caught myself about to tell her my plan to remove that tree and I thought, "Oh yawn, who wants to listen to me going on about what I'm going to do someday." Plus it was a pretty good bet that I'd mentioned this plan to her many times already. That act of catching myself, instead of just spouting it out again, must have made an impression on me because the next day I just went out and did it. It was back breaking but kind of fun at the same time, like solving a puzzle. When I got to the part where I would probably have lost interest in the past, i.e., when it got hard, I smiled to myself and said "Today I'm a person who takes out a stump, instead of a person who talks about taking out a stump." I liked being that person.
The roots near the surface are small but strong, There were dozens of roots going off in all directions, the width of a pencil, but with lots of tiny offshoots, like the legs of a centipede. They're tenacious. A lesson to learn here I'm thinking, these individual parts are small and would be useless on their own, but put together they have strength to support this tree. They go off in every direction from the stump and I can easily cut them or just pull them out. It's fun to see where they go and some zig zag their way across the lawn. I cut out so many of these and the hole around the tree is getting bigger and bigger. I'm thinking this isn't so bad, but when I try to move the stump I see it's still solidly in place, not a sign of movement. So I dig and dig and dig, and finally I come to a new layer of roots. These are about the size of a large carrot. I find a few of these. They're thick and strong, and smooth, without all the little capillary offshoots. I'm going deeper, but finally find the place where they start to move out from the tree and I can cut them. Now I'm feeling tired and knowing I'm going to be sore, but I start to see some mobility in the stump, I can actually move it a bit but I can tell there's still an anchor down there. The part that's immovable is very near the foundation of the house it's hard to get in there with the shovel. I'm on my hands and knees and I'm digging in the dirt trying to find the place that's keeping the connection. Finally I find it. It's so big, I nearly feel defeated, but hey, I'm the woman who takes out a stump instead of the woman who talks about it, so I keep at it. On this day I'm Wonder Woman. This root is not only thick and strong, it keeps going straight down so I can't get a good angle to cut it. But I'm not giving up now. I keep digging. I'm pushing the stump back and forth, wrestling with it. I'm filthy, tired, but I'm not giving up. And there it is, a slight bend in the root. My clippers aren't really big enough to go around it but I slash away at it as best I can, I attack it with the point of the shovel. I'm a maniac.
While I'm stabbing away at this last deep, strong root, I start thinking how this stump is like me. First there was the tangle of surface roots, going every which way, chaos. Like me, a whirlwind of activity, no time to write, no time for homework, no time for me. Run here, run there, starting to get close to something I need to look at, no problem, stop here and put out a runner in some other direction. Finally, finally, years of work with Marc and I get past all these surface diversions and down to some bigger roots keeping me stiff and in place. These are tough, but I keep at the work. Once I get through this layer, I'll be home free. Fooled again, I'm down deeper and shed another layer, and I can see a bit of movement but I'm still deeply rooted in my muck. But I keep at it, still tricking myself once in a while, going back to the frenzy of those surface roots sometimes. Finally I'm down to the big one. I'm wrestling with it, I'm slashing at it. I think I'm going to finally get it and break free.
But wait, if the stump is me, once I cut this last one, I'll be dead. I stop my slasher shovel attach for a moment. Do I want to be dead? YES, I want that old immobile, stuck in the muck me to be gone. This last one is keeping the old me rooted here, this old me stuck in this wrong place. This root is deep and hard and strong, but I'm the new me and I don't need to be stuck in this place anymore. I don't want anything feeding this old me anymore. I raise my shovel again and stab away at the root, at my old rigid, judgmental, immovable, fearful, aloof, hidden, lonely, controlling self. And it breaks. I can cut it away. I pick up the stump and triumphantly drag it away. I'm so proud that I call my mother and the neighbors over for a viewing.
The next day I added new soil and compost to that big empty hole and planted a lace cap hydrangea. It will bloom in August and into the fall. Like the new me, it's a late bloomer.