February. In 36 hours, a snowstorm will be suspended over my house, pouring down anywhere from 3-10 inches of snow, depending on what weather app you pay attention to.

But today. Today was in the 50’s. And I shrugged off my February hibernation that sometimes feels more like depression and dug in the dirt.

There’s matching land that straddles the boundary between my neighbor’s property and mine. A massive dead tree tilts toward my neighbor’s property and English ivy covers everything. When I first moved into the house, I was delighted to see the English ivy. I felt beautiful and special and so very much like Elizabeth Bennett and Pride and Prejudice. Everyone knows that when you old an old house that the owner must be in need of English ivy.

Until you realize how damn invasive it is and that it’s toxic to rabbits. So it’s a beautiful plant that kills everything.

Gotta go.

Last year, I learned that one of my favorite gardening tools, the Claw (or is it called the Hook?) just ripped the hell out of the ivy. Stick my four pronged claw tool into the center of the ivy. Twist. And continue to twist and pull until feet of ivy is yanked out.

Just so satisfying.

So today, I dug out my claw tool. Pulled out a few other assorted tools and attacked my ivy thicket. For four hours, I twisted, yanked, tugged, dug, and pulled. And it felt incredible. My two dogs migrated around me. The neighbor’s dog came by to visit. I played music on my phone and chopped and worked to the varying rhythms of Louis Armstrong, Thomas Tallis, U2, or Joy Williams, among others.

The skin on my hands dried out and yet seemed to stay moist as I scavenged away last year’s leaves and exposed the twisted, tendrils nest of Ivy vines. Umber earthworms seized and scurries into the loosened earth and sought cover. I wish I could remark on bird song.

I heard bird calls. But I didn’t really hear the singing. That’s okay. I’m ripping out the ivy so I can plant native plants that will feed the birds. Until then, I have my feeders. Soon, I will blog about birds. I will blog about their singing.

I filled a trash can with my ivy and have this lovely swath of clear space. I dream about filling the area with purple cone flowers. Black eyed Susans. I want to plant chicory because goldfinches love it. But it’s not a native plant. It’s defined as naturalized. Does that count?

As much as the political world feels like chaos and I am not immune to its frenetic, almost frightening energy, I am carving out my place for hope and peace. I have sent out four queries so far. I will send out another ten before the end of this week. I am imbued with a a sense of confidence that I’m scared to admit to. I feel like I am jinxing myself. But my faith in God and His will is stronger than my fear of karma-jinxes.

As I destroy, I will build. My dream is to build a habitat that will feed and care for native pollinators and birds. I want to create a little meadow space that will be a bit wild and untamed, even as the county where I live rips out the forests to allow for construction and “progress.”

I dream of bluebird houses. I dream of a solar powered water feature. I dream of goldfinches clapping tall stems as they pry the seeds from the blossoms. I dream of birdsong rifling over my lawn. I dream of a dimple, natural beauty that will offer solace. And a shelter. And peace.