The Clean-Up

Finally, finally, finally...after multiple attempts both yesterday and today, I've been able to outsmart the BlogGods and uploaded the following pictures.

I took the first two pictures from our deck a couple of days ago. You can see...well, you can see. That's the problem. There's a big brown house back there! And a street! A street that cars actually drive on. Who knew??

I talked with the guy who cut down all the trees/brush. He was afraid that his trees were the ones that damaged our play structure and littered our yard, so he just cut everything away. He said he would feel terrible if the boys were hurt by his lack of pruning. So, I suppose I can't be too mad.

The first day I went out to work in the sunshine to clean up debris, I had to go inside after about five minutes. I was just overcome with grief. It felt like we lived next to a clearcut forest. I cannot stand needless removal of living plantlife. I honestly take it personally. So, to be down in the "clearcut" just broke my heart. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. Overly dramatic, perhaps, but that's who I is. ;o)

I loved the moss & dirt & squirrels & how you couldn't actually see the creek because the ferns & overgrowth were too thick. I loved the smell. I loved the privacy. I loved that moist, earthy smell. It was like we had a little faerie land back there. So, I'm sad.

But, after taking a break for a couple of hours while trying to have a rational discussion with myself regarding the tree/shrub removal, telling myself it was okay, there must be benefits that will pop up later on, etc., I headed out again. It wasn't as bad the second time, particularly after I spoke with the neighbor.

But I still hate it.

I haven't lived in a place with an exposed backyard for ages. I lived in my share of apartments and don't count those, but houses I have chosen to live in have not had much exposure for the most part. I lived with Michelle in the tiny house on Utah Ave. and the backyard was absolutely gigantic; in NE Portland with Pat & Dallas the yard wasn't huge but it was pretty big & had tons of trees, plus the yard ours backed up to was pretty big & had lots of trees, too; then in Multnomah Village we had that funky yard that bumped up to that teeny, tiny little "house" but beyond that the yard was big & full of trees; in Lake Oswego we had not much of a yard but since we were on the hill we were positioned above the house behind us so we had plenty of privacy. That brings us to Woodhill St. where, until late-December, we lived amongst the trees. We could see hints of a house here & there behind us but nothing too clear.

As I sit at the computer right now, looking out back, I can see the following: Harritt St., a 1980's truck parked on Harritt, the entirety of a brown house behind us, including toys on the grass, a hot tub, a pink blanket thrown across the back of a couch, a brown house across Harritt, and a red house where the owner of the previously-treed-property lives. Prior to the greenery-removal, we could see hints of the brown house behind us and bits & pieces of the red house. And that was it. I had no idea that Harritt St. was even visible from our place.

Okay, okay, I'll stop whining now! The benefits that I can see (pun clearly intended) include the possibility of making friends with the people in the brown house. They have kids that are probably pretty close to Sully and Keaton's ages and now we'll probably be able to see them out playing & can invite them to cross the creek, hop the fence, and come play.

Yesterday I got the boys to help me clean up the sticks. Sully took his job quite seriously!

I have a "no gun" rule. It is pretty simple: no guns allowed around me nor in our home. Sounds simple, yes, but apparently there are loopholes to be found. Keats can turn anything into a weapon and thinks it is okay to do so because, "Mom! It's not a real gun; it's a stick." He knows I don't like guns and he feels a little ashamed of his desire to turn everything into weapons...so he apologizes for his antics...but he still does it. Like every third stick yesterday was a weapon of some kind. He even started collecting the gun-like sticks and tried to bring them inside with him once we were finished working outside. Not!

Sully, on the other hand, turned every stick into a letter of the alphabet. There were a gazillion Ls, Js, Is, Vs, Xs, and Ws. ;o)