Ever since we've lived here I've wanted to build a path out under the fir trees. Last fall I went out with a ball of twine and some sticks and laid out the general direction; then planted some hosta and iris along the twine. But I didn't have any brick. Then last winter our roof started leaking. Turns out that our old brick chimney was the cause. When the roofers came to demolished the old chimney, I told them I wanted to keep the brick. They looked at me sideways-thought I was nuts; but they politely complied with my wishes and stacked the old bricks next to the house. You know the old saying, when life hands you lemons...make lemonade? Well, when life hands you a leaky, broken chimney...make a path!
Then I sat down in the dirt and played around with the brick; laying them this way and that, trying to create a pleasing pattern with them. I found that building a path and sewing a quilt are similar undertakings. Can you see the log cabin design in my path? (My first attempts looked more like the 'drunkards path' quilt design.) Anyway, there's a certain irony- no, it's really serendipity- that this passage under the evergreen trees is in a 'log cabin' design. I like that! The whole scheme; the plants, colors, and the trees are all taking on a quilt theme in my head. Now if I could just climb up to the top of one of the trees and to get a bird's eye perspective of it all!
Do you see all of the 'gravel' at the beginning of my path? That's mortar. Those old bricks have lots of mortar stuck to them. You have to take a hammer and chisel and chip it off. If you pound too hard, the brick cracks in half. If you don't pay attention to what you're doing, you'll smash your finger. Then the whole process stops while you go inside to pour rubbing alcohol over your bloody finger and bandage it up. More lessons learned the hard way.
I'm not real sure where this path will end. There will be a spot between the trees with a hammock, where one may stop and rest. And I did notice a nice area between the plantings that would be perfect for a little pond. So the path will certainly wind past these spots. From there, I don't know. That's the fun of it, isn't it...not being exactly certain how our paths will turn out...craning our necks to see what's around the next curve...the anticipation...
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.