It was simply an overgrown, yellow-tipped cedar hedge hiding our home. Yet this hedge represented many blockages in my life and even inspired some writing.

I’d say things such as, “If the hedge were gone, I could expand my garden space, which would make me happier,” “That hedge is blocking my progress like Dave is by not taking it down,” or ” If the hedge were gone, more sunlight would shine into the studio windows, making me happier” and “if the hedge were gone that yellow colour (which reminded me of dying and malnourishment) would vanish and make way for vibrant growth.”

If it were only up to me, I would have rashly removed the hedge two years ago, but this is not solely my home. We are a shared family venture here in Coquitlam—other people’s opinions on the hedge and its removal matter. Many factors had to be considered, mainly the order in which projects and renovations would occur, as we only have so many daily hours to complete them. However, in my opinion, the household priority list was far too long, and the hedge removal being lower on the list was a source of personal angst. I pushed hard for it to be moved up the list because it was butt-ugly and took up space. Unfortunately, the more I pushed to remove the hedge, the more pushback I received.

“What exactly was the problem?” I festered to myself. “I am the family’s gardening guru; I know what would be best for the front landscape. Why don’t they trust that my garden vision will look great? Why won’t they help me take it down? Don’t they know the value of growing food?” I whined in spiralling agitation. I worked myself up so much about the hedge issue that when I questioned my husband why he was stalling on removing it, he felt the full intensity of my psychotic wrath.

His defences usually went straight up. I could not say anything that benefitted my plight; in fact, each time we had these hedge conversations, other life concerns wiggled into our clash. That had the opposite effect than I desired: building a complicated wedge between us that was inexplicably tied to the stupid yellow-cedar hedge. I wanted the hedge gone now, and he would not pick up a chainsaw until he was good and ready.

We were in a long-term stand-off. Stagnant.

Regardless, I casually brought up the hedge-wedge conversation again. I had caught my usual February fever (symptoms are starting seeds in every available household container and jerry-rigging grow lights in nooks and crannies), plus food prices were going through the roof, so I wanted to grow indoor greens. That conversation about removing the hedge to expand our garden space started … and immediately bolted to raised voices. I thought, “Oh gawd, here we go again, straight into battle.”

I would have held my ground, but my stomach became severely knotted. I shivered oddly through my entire body as the backlash came and decided to stop pleading (but stay silently pouty). It just wasn’t worth the stress. I hate conflict, even though I genuinely believed I was 100% right in wanting the hedge removed.

We ended the talk, but a thick distance remained between us. The silent buffer exasperated my stomach knots. It was very uncomfortable and contrary to how I wanted our relationship to be. I had to defuse and eliminate the wedge instead of making our relationship the victim. Perhaps that earlier shiver running through my body was a sign that no hedge, ugly yellow or not, was worth our alienation.

I broached the subject for the last time. I explained to Dave that I knew why the hedge was not a priority, understood how much work was involved, and respected that he was swamped with obligations and that I would no longer push for its imminent removal. I explained that I didn’t think the conflict was worth the distance between us. If/when he had time to take the hedge out, that would be great, but I would not hold ultimatums over his head. He did not immediately believe I was sincere in my concession (I deserved that. After all, I had been pushing for 2 years), but I left it with him to digest.

Surprisingly, I was the one who breathed a deep sigh of relief, and my stomach knots dissipated. I chatted to myself about the myriad options I had to grow food, whether the hedge was in place or not. I was looking forward to exploring new options and learning in the process. Everything would be fine, green, blooming, bountiful, and best of all, I would no longer be at odds with my husband.

A couple of days later, Dave mentioned that he intended to take the hedge out with help from our grandson, Charles, during his spring break visit. I was ecstatic at that news but was also content if it didn’t happen to happen. Either way, I was going to be okay. I had no expectations (just fingers and toes crossed) to not set myself up for disappointment.

Good things proceeded to happen.

Wow! The hedge is actually gone.

There is something very serendipitous about this tale. Maybe things that I think are beneficial are blocking me. Maybe I am blocking myself. Maybe I needed to learn patience. Perhaps it is learning to let go of people and issues that I am firmly attached to (which seems to be a recurring theme for me this year) or the heart-warming occurrence that Charles (aka Brusselsprout) was here to expand our gardens; as he was the original reason I dove into my food-growing fondness.

Nevertheless, or all of the above, I am very grateful to feel unblocked in more ways than one. I’m sure I am heading down a path of vibrant new growth, and so are my gardens.