Late last winter, I inadvertently started what may yet become a park overlooking the river. I certainly would never have deliberately set out to do a jungle clearance.
On the way to the river, my path crosses a damp spot that becomes a stream after heavy rains. A short distance away, the stream has cut a ravine. Between the path and the ravine on the left was a great tangled mass of vines and trees.
When I began the project, I was scrounging around for dead wood. There it was, hanging from the grape vines that had killed the trees but wouldn't let them fall from its clutches.
Having a fairly level spot to work, I started cutting a swath. With my chain saw, I cut the enormous grape vines at their roots. The stumps oozed a clear thick sealant that kind of made me feel bad, like they were bleeding. However, they were tree-killers, climbing high into the canopy, blocking the sunlight, then spreading to nearby trees. For all that growth, they bore only tiny grapes, which I was sure must be sour.
Hanging out with them were their nefarious cronies, the nasty greenbriar vines. Those meanies are pretty much solid needles. Not as thick as the grape vines, they could be cut down with the pruners. They grew in clumps, as did the monster wild rose canes growing in profusion nearby.
Merely wanting the firewood, I hacked my way toward it. Some was on the ground, some hung diagonally, some was over my head. Unbeknownst to me, the whole enterprise was well over my head.
Wearing thick leather fencing gloves (for barbed wire, not swordplay) I started pulling the cut vines down. I kept backing away, sometimes over twenty feet, until they came free from the treetops.
Gathering the intertwined grape and greenbriar vines into big loops, I flung them into the nearby ravine. The gloves were no match for the rose thorns, so those I had carry with the pruners, the same as I did with the ubiquitous poison ivy.
Joining those plant gangsters in the deep ravine went the useless punky wood. One rotten snag at the edge of the drop-off was so far gone that I was able to push it over the brink. That made me feel powerful, which somewhat mitigated my sense of puniness against all that strapping stickery stuff.
Bit by bit, I cut the firewood and hauled it out. The project went on for many an afternoon. At last I had all the dead wood, with the exception of a standing hedgeapple tree that had three trunks. That was too much of a challenge for me to attempt. Later, my son cut it down for me.
Looking around and seeing the whole picture, I was stunned to find the difference I'd made. This widest flat spot high above the river had the potential for becoming a nice grassy park.
A big pleasant-looking tree grew at a slight angle, perfect for steps for climbing. I could see the grandkids up there. Okay, I would enjoy climbing it, too.
While I was at it, I thinned out some skinny trees that were competing for sunlight with the established stately trees.
Next, I used the bolt cutters to cut down the rusty barbed wire fence. I snipped it into tidy lengths and put it out with the trash. The ravine could accomodate any amount of brush. Knowing that the spring rains would lift it and float it away, I didn't want anything in there that would trash up the landscape downriver.
The hiatus came when I couldn't cross the creek on Rosie the Ride-On Mower. While I waited for things to dry out, the greenbriar, grapes and poison ivy sprouted where I'd cut them. Some nettles joined their tough gang. The vines slunk through the grass, faint shadows of their former vertical rise. The poison ivy made it a bad neighborhood for me to venture into all summer.
I have not lost hope that the riverview park is small enough that it could be tamed by one relentless woman. After all, the hard work has already been done.
