The Wall

I have known this wall for many years, but now I know it better, having been recruited to clear it of some of its vines. I tried to spare the honeysuckle, but it's not so easy. One neighbor cut away only the vines that cascaded down the face, and today I did my friend's section and that of an empty house next door, but I did above the wall as well.

It was built during the 1920s to create access to basement-level auto garages (a new thing then, with heating above where the car's radiator would go) behind the row. What I learned today is that when built, there was the wall, then a wide concrete walk at the top, and behind the walk there was an iron fence. In the decades since, tall ailanthus trees (giant weeds) and vines have enitirely changed the defining lines of the scene, in some cases holding the fence in the center of their trunks. The property owners above believe that the trees are owned by those below, and vice versa. The city might come by and do some cutting if a storm brought one or more of them down and squashed something, but short of that, they want no part of the matter. Meanwhile, there is serious erosion behind the wall and the tree roots are at last doing damage.

Cutting away vines reminds me of Europe because that is where I've done most of my vine removal. My thoughts always go back to that place: the vines crawl up the fence, up the trees, along the wires, over the ocean, and finally they pour down the wall to Earth. In the morning I'll do a bit more cutting and bag up the vines.