Pulling Out

Zoe and Katrina in front of the Tule Ponds sign

For our first set of volunteering hours, Zoe, Katrina, and I went to Tule Ponds.  The original idea was that we would be planting trees, but once we arrived, the supervisor -- name unknown, guy with a beard -- told us we were to tear out blackberry bushes to make a new trail for the elementary schools.  We were given gloves, cutting shears, shovels, and rakes, and left to find our own methods of destruction.  The three of us worked somewhat (okay, very) separately from the other students, who happened to be from a college group.  The work was hard, but not bothersome thanks to how shady it was.  

The three of us remembering we need photographic
proof halfway through.

Pulling out roots turned out to be oddly satisfying.  I have a problem using tools for their intended purposes so I just tore out roots with my (gloved) hands.  I found myself not thinking past the task at hand.  Most of the dialogue was, “Hey, can you dig here?” or “Get this root for me.” or “Rake this bit out.”  It was mindless and I hate my muscles for being sore twenty-four hours later, but I find I don’t mind for once.




I feel as if the intentions of all of this, just getting an assignment done, lessen the meaning to it.  But once I got there, once I began ripping roots out with my gloved hands, scapes up to the elbow, I found myself not caring.  I was there, and I was making things easier on others.  It reminded me of the anti-hero, at least when they say, “I know that was a jerk move, but my motives have changed since!  Forgive me!”  Even as I roll my eyes at how cheesy it sounds, it’s true enough.