Roots

Recently we decided to remove an Azalea in front of our house. I thought I could take it on and one afternoon cut everything down to stubs from the roots. It was fun, productive, and immediate. It also revealed that our Azalea was actually a circle of several separate plants with several small, doomed Maples trying to grow in there too. Some were dead, but most were not.

The next day I purchased a shovel and went after uprooting the remainders of these plants. It was arduous and aided by a neighbor loaning me a tiller tool to help find and remove individual roots. However, it was hard labor and I quickly realized the entire scope of the project was far beyond our original estimated timeline. Winter is soon approaching so the the prospect of frozen terra firma disagreeing with my efforts is unsatisfactory.

So I have attacked the project with a vengeance a couple of more times. Unlike the removal of the branches and leaves, no one can tell that I am doing anything other than moving dirt around. I wonder if the neighbors think me daft, or worse. The roots run a few inches deep in the topsoil and the big guys delve deeper into the thick Carolina clay below. I struggle and pull out these spindles of interwoven roots, but the visibility to anyone not doing the work or stopping to see my pile of massacred roots is nil. The cluster of center stubs still remains there, taunting me almost.

I figure I need to put in several more hours, but realize the change in weather might extend this project into next year. Never mind the job, or wanting to spend time with my wife, there's a baby requiring a lot of attention - while the sunlight is fading quickly and the daylights savings reducing my window of opportunity even further. My neighbor referred to this project as my albatross, which she said I'd be stuck with for a while. I think that she might be right.