What it sort of looked like, though it isn’t mine.

Still in progress

My summer project, aka Avoiding the Revision, is clearing some brush out back.  Full of creepers, vines, and Poison ivy, I have been donning long sleeves and gloves, and applying a newly acquired set of lopers to the woods.  I now understand how the pioneers must have felt felling trees to create homesteads.  The sound of the lopers cutting through branches and roots is chillingly satisfying.  I barely made a dent, despite filling a garbage bin half-dozen times to lug to the compost pile.  Still, when I raked a narrow edge in the woods to reveal leaf mold and dirt, I was thrilled.  There is  now a small, liberated wild honeysuckle tree.  The thorny vines that were not roses that were never to be roses, are cut and release their grasp on the flowering trees.

I envision native plants: trilliums, mallow, maybe woodland bulbs.  What I’d like  to is create a small oasis for the eyes, hang trailing flowers from the dead tree limbs, scatter bluebells and lily of the valley at ground level.  A hammock and a book could be very nice. Why, one could even revise there.