Should I dig them up, or prune them way back? Were they shrubs, or just overgrown weeds?
And what about the fence? Should I knock it down, or rebuild it?
Maybe I should take out the front end entirely and use the wood to fix up the sides.
The longer I looked around, the more I felt like forgetting the whole thing.
Why bother? It wasn’t our property. Mr. Finnegan should be the one making repairs.
But then I remembered my mother’s words from the night before.
Surely, I thought, a few bushes and some dilapidated wood couldn’t stop someone’s best and brightest blessing! Surely not!
And with that, I picked up the clippers and got to work.
Half an hour later I was keeper of the knowledge that one bush equals many branches,
and that the volume of a bush increases exponentially as it’s cut and tossed into the middle of a yard.
It was ridiculous! Where was I going to put all this stuff?
Mom came home and tried to talk me out of my mission, but I’d have none of it. Oh, no-no-no!
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