I picked up my long-handled clippers from the garage and walked across the lawn towards one of the pine trees in the backyard. Sunday afternoons are for relaxing and not working, but I looked forward to cutting down the unwanted clumps of false elderberry bushes and other invasive saplings growing under the trees. This one job done on a Sunday afternoon would be easy to do, and a pleasure to have out of the way.
Visiting and checking on flowerbeds around the backyard on this pleasant early summer afternoon was a joy. Birds warbled happy tunes to announce that they had returned from their winter vacations. A busy little wren sang to warn other birds to stay away from his nest. An oriole singing from a tree top sounded wistful, like he was begging for jelly to eat.
Arriving at the tree patch, I stood looking at the plethora of weeds growing in profusion under the pine’s branches. I wondered where to start. The area had never been touched by a lawn mower. I ducked under the closest tree’s bottom branches and boldly waded into the tangled mess. My goal was to cut down the tallest and bushiest first. Instantly, a legion of no-see-ums rose up and swarmed across my face, neck and hair. The small, biting midges got behind my glass lenses and in my ears where they buzzed frantically and bounced against my skin like pinballs in a pinball machine. Sputtering, I spit out the no-see-ums that were trying to get into my mouth.
Swatting at the small insects was futile; they moved too fast. Suddenly, my one, small Sunday afternoon job felt like a hard-fought, protracted war and I was a stubborn soldier who refused to leave until the job I came to do was done. The enemy crawled all over my arms and legs. Dozens of midges started to take samples of blood from my hairline. I leaned over and quickly lopped off the bushes and invasive trees.
Once I’d accomplished my goal, I rushed to escape. Taking a hasty step forward, one of the plant stem stubbles stabbed me in the ankle. Gasping, I limped out of the bramble onto the lawn. My leg hurt and blood trickled from the wound.
Life Lines 