Cutting back the blackberry bramble is a little like painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Itís a job that never ends. Just when you think youíve bopped all the beavers, another one pops up and does its taunting little dance.
Thatís how it happens that Iíve filled up the yard waste container to the top two weeks in a row, and yet if you didnít know, you might not believe how hard Iíve worked. Not that I want credit for working, but I would like to see some improvement in the landscaping. Something that others can also see, that is, so they donít think Iím hallucinating.
Those vines are unlike anything else I have to deal with, because they seem to grow back into themselves. Itís hard to tell where one ends and another begins. Iím far from getting to the roots, because itís all I can do to untangle the vines from each other. I just chop here and there and fling whatever comes out into the container. The deeper I go, the closer I get to the source, but before I can worry about roots, I have to have a clear path.
Today I moved off the back porch and into the middle of the camellia bush. I love the camellia, because it starts blooming so early every year, before Iím even thinking about spring. Itís messy, but itís a reminder that winter will end. Iíd hate to see my neglect endanger the life of this bush. Thatís enough incentive to keep at it, in spite of the scratches on my arms and holes in my clothes from the thorns