My organizing has seeped from the house to the outdoors, which, despite the physical exertion, is easier. Instead of agonizing over objects that possess meaning and debating whether to keep or toss–a particular book, a letter, a drawing by one of the kids–I cut and slash with abandon. A wisteria vine that’s taken over the deck, a rogue cypress that requires its own drip, clumps of root-bound ground cover that take over everything. Out! Ruthless, I know, but with the drought in California and water costing a fortune, keeping every plant that grows (which around here means a lot of them) doesn’t make sense.
Over Labor Day, Tim and I hauled the mounds of brush we’ve stashed for years in a pile between our two redwoods down in the corner of our yard, up the 20 or 30 stone steps carved into our hill, and into the can on our front driveway. That’s twenty cubic yards of green, and we are done. For now. 
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