Hold the Perimeter
For Barb
Part 1
I mowed the lawn today after weeks of staring at it and saying ‘later.’ Having choked its way through dense grass, miniature hardwoods, and snaking vines, the mower pushed back the in-creeping forest.
Left alone, our lawn’s perimeter would blend into the woods behind it—in a single summer. In 5 summers, our homemade house would be hard to find as mother nature, minding her own business—filled in the hole.
By Vermont standards our land is small (2 acres), by everyone else’s standard—it is tough. A narrow strip of steep, rocky hillside—with a lovely view facing sunrise.
In our first years of marriage, and in our early 20’s, my husband and I could not afford a major rent increase at the apartment building we lived in in northern Vermont. Unable to find anything affordable, we bought a tent at Sears and moved our little family into the mountains, where we lived until a week before our second child was born.
Homeless camping.
Two years later we found our land—with a burnt down house, hundreds of snakes and chest high grass, a driveway, good water, a septic system and an old garage with no running water that we could move into while we rebuilt.
We were thrilled to have our own land and for 36 years— have tried to improve it.
Unhappy with a short wall I had built a decade earlier—with little thought or planning, I decided last Autumn to redo it—with little thought or planning.
Toppling the rocks off the short wall, I soon reached dirt and began digging—and digging. My little project, meant to be completed before the snows came, turned into the largest landscape project of my life as I found layers of buried rock.
A bit startled, I recognized the forgotten rocks from past projects, layered in the earth like a timeline of my life—and work, on this land. Apparently, I am drawn to hard labor.
The more I ‘undid’—the bigger the mess and my anxiety of how I was going to rebuild it.
Determined to build it right this time—and hopefully gain a little garden space, I sat on my pile of rocks, and took stock of my assets.
I had a wheelbarrow, a shovel, and a rake (like always), plus wisdom and physical wellness—the last two, I realized—were my greatest assets.
As the Queen of ‘wing it’, I earned wisdom by building impatiently and watching gravity tumble my stones back into the earth.
Having struggled with ill health as a young woman, I ultimately found wellness within and like our lawn, learned how to hold the perimeter on my health and wellness.
Mowing the lawn maintains a boundary with the forest. Working, moving, and playing at a high level of physicality and personal growth—maintains a boundary with wellness.
Whenever I face a personal challenge, either physical or otherwise, I envision a bullseye in my mind’s eye and lean into it—rather than retreat.
This small animation helps me look within for solutions—rather than look outward and to others. This is where I always find the best—and most sustainable solutions.
Hold The Perimeter
Part 2
Our town was having its annual summer festival and a ‘tug of war’ competition was announced. Prone to competitiveness, I sought advice on how to win.
“Get in the front of the line, and plant your feet at a very steep angle away from the opposition,” I was coached.
If I had known how organized and serious about winning the other team was—I would have switched sides.
The gun went off and the other team roared with single minded purpose, yanking the top half of me and my entire team into the mud.
The bottom half of me stood its ground.
No one but me heard the snap of my knee coming loose from its mooring, or even knew I was injured at the bottom of the muddy pile.
Crawling off to the sideline, I tried hard not to vomit in front of the entire town and waited wretchedly for my husband to come get me.
The Orthopedic surgeon performed a manual exam on my knee—looking for slop.
He said the knee should be nice and tight in all directions—but found plenty of movement instead.
Responding to my non surgery approach, he suggested a cast for 8 weeks, then a repeat of the manual exam. “If you are lucky”, he said,” it will be a partial tear and the knee will tighten up—without surgery.
Eight weeks later the cast came off and the surgeon felt more resistance than he had in the initial exam. “That’s great,” I said, “I’ll take it from here.”
Before the injury, I could grasp one foot at a time and (slowly) bring my big toe to my nose (a flexibility ritual I began in adolescence) and I wanted my knee back—as good as that.
In order to reach this personal PT goal and more importantly sustain it, I looked inward—to my own inner physician/advisor—what I call my wild voice.
Closing my eyes I envisioned a large bullseye with my toe-to-nose goal at the center of it. I raised my hands to a prayer pose in front of my chest—and leaned forward slightly—toward the bullseye.
I knew this journey would not be easy—so I let go of any expectation that it would be. I did however expect the gremlins of discomfort, set backs and pain—and resolved to lean forward and into—rather than retreat from them.
When the cast came off, I was unable to reach my ankle—so I decided to start there.
Every day, I reached for my ankle and felt discomfort, a lot of resistance, pain—and a little fear of hurting myself.
A four pack of gremlins.
When these gremlins stopped my reach, I closed my eyes and envisioned the bullseye goal, exhaled the gremlins, and reached— a tiny bit further.
It took one year to reach my goal and I am wicked grateful to have my knee back—as good as it was.
So everyday in gratitude, I touch my big toe(s) to my nose—and hold the perimeter on my knee’s health—and the gremlins.
