The Bina Trail

This past July, a heavy summer rainstorm deposited perhaps 5 inches of rain on our Sandy Springs neighborhood along with an 80-foot oak on the roof of our home.  The tree removal, which involved an array of heavy equipment not generally intended for suburban usage, also destroyed our yard’s limited landscaping.

Desperate to transition our backyard from a post-apocalyptic landscape to something fit for human habitation, I reached out to our local UGA Extension office.  Several weeks later, Abra, an advisor from the office, visited our home to assess the lunar-like landscape.  Observing the ¼ acre arbor of dense trees behind our yard and, noting that I had a granddaughter, she suggested that I create woodland trails to explore.  “For the grandchild” were the three magical words that catalyzed me into action.
A week later, Atlanta Arbor, the company that had so expertly removed the oak encased in our roof, deposited a truckload of wood chips on our front lawn.  Beginning the next day, I arose early and began added urban landscaping to my morning routine.  Shovelfuls of chips were dumped into a wheel barrel, trudged to the backyard and then dumped over the ivy and through the tall trees.
Six weeks and perhaps a hundred wheelbarrows full later the pile of wood chips is gone.  Multiple trails now traverse wind their ways through the trees.  I lined the paths with solar-powered lights and Jo and I have been scouring websites and discount stores for outdoor sculptures, gnomes, wind chimes and the like for Bina to discover.

It was an exhausting and laborious effort that oft left me drenched in sweat with sore joints and muscles.  I developed shin splints.  The Georgia sun rose each morning to find a 66-year-old man hauling woods chips as if possessed.  Which, of course, I was. It was, in the truest sense, a labor of love.
Bina’s trail is now complete- in time for her (and her parents’) visit next month.  She took her first steps several weeks ago and should be fully ambulatory by the time she arrives.  For now, I walk out on our deck, look over my work, imagine her and me exploring the woods together and feel a wonderful sense of joy.
It is, as my friend Jane Shapiro pointed out, a wonderful metaphor for grandparenting.  We toil to build paths and journeys of joy and wonder for our children and grandchildren.  We do so with delight, passion and love - shin splints and all.