January 1, 2001
CYBERCOLUMN:
Where do you feel at home?
___By Berry D. Simpson
___"For me, home used to be in my hammock in the backyard under the shade of a big honey locust tree that I planted with my own hands. I loved to lie in that hammock and read the Sunday paper while gently swinging myself by pulling on the slender rope tied to the porch post. I learned to swing and sleep at the same time. Sometimes I wrote in myjournal and contemplated on spiritual things. It was wonderful and peaceful, and it was home.
BERRY D. SIMPSON
___Unfortunately, I had to cut that tree down late last year. Bores attacked it in the summer of 1999, and by spring of 2000 it finally gave up the fight to stay alive. It broke my heart to lose this tree.
___ Cyndi and I planted the tree years ago when it was just a one-inch diameter youngster, and through the years it grew into a trunk of 18 inches. It was a significant tree; the biggest and oldest impression I'd made on earth. I was inspired by that tree.
___Well, my honey locust tree wasn't the only thing we lost last year. We also lost most of the ivy in our front yard; we've been planting it since 1988 to replace our Bermuda lawn. I've nursed that ivy for all these months, spending countless weekend hours sitting on a blue plastic stool digging dandelions and milkweed and nut grass, wearing my favorite brown leather work gloves. I invested a huge chunk of my meditation time on Saturday and Sunday afternoons digging in that ivy patch and listening to Christian music on the radio. I learned to anticipate that time alone in the yard and to appreciate the spiritual encounters I had while digging weeds in my ivy patch.
___My across-the-street neighbor, Frank, reminded me on more than one occasion that I planted ivy in order to avoid spending time mowing the grass, yet there I was spending ten-fold the hours weeding. He was correct. My ivy project took more of my time than mowing ever did.
___However, working with the ivy has been soothing, and mowing never soothed me. And I enjoy having a front "lawn" that doesn't look like every other lawn in town. I love the customized look it gives our house. It has made me feel at home in our front yard.
___But last summer, some type of fungus attacked our ivy, and large chunks of it just died almost overnight. It was heartbreaking. I'd planted most of those ivy plants myself and had helped that ivy conquer the territory with my own hands. I was shocked to see how quickly it could die back.
___So, I lost two of my favorite landmarks last year. Both were things I planted and I nursed (of course, Cyndi helped me). I've lost part of my home. I still like to work in the yard, and someday I'll enjoy the hammock again whenever one of our backup trees grows enough to put out shade. But the loss hurts.
___The thing is, I thought I was more in charge of my environment. I expect the things I do to stay done. I don't enjoy short-term fixes, and it hurts to realize my efforts were so temporary.
___ Not long ago, I noticed my dead honey locust tree was leaning to the east about 10-degrees off vertical and was resting against our back porch. I knew there was no more delaying the inevitable, and I had to remove the tree before it crashed into our house. I finally was convinced the tree would never come back to life, and I was at peace with the loss. One Tuesday afternoon, I borrowed a chainsaw and cut the tree down, converting one of my "homes" into a stack of firewood that is now located on the south side of the house. If we have a cold winter, even that last bit will be gone.
___ As I write this, I am surprised to say that losing my favorite tree and losing most of my ivy was not as traumatic as I'd might have thought. I am ready to replant and start over and move on. I don't know what that says about me. I hope it says I am finally becoming wiser (along with older) and now I can handle defeat better than I used to. Or maybe it says I am at peace with the notion I'm not in charge.
___ Either way, a new year is just beginning, and I am looking forward to the fresh start. I'll keep nurturing what's left of my ivy and probably plant another tree and rejoice in the fact that God is in control, this world is not my home and I'm just passing through.
___ Berry Simpson is a petroleum engineer, writer, runner and Sunday School teacher at First Baptist Church in Midland.
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