It’s not a fear of heights, I told myself:  it’s an acknowledgment of matter-of-fact limitations. The balance, it is iffy. The ladder ain’t so steady itself. But hey, my nemesis and me, we’re the best of friends, right, Calvin?

And yet this evening as I was looking at that annoying big weed-tree branch that had been leafing out wildly while growing ever longer right over the top of my Fuji apple tree all summer, doing it no good whatsoever, I hauled the big orange plastic ladder thataway, climbed up to the second step in firm determination and, arms outstretched with long-handled shears, whacked away at that thing above me the best I could.

Eventually I simply climbed the third step, pulled the big limb towards me with those loppers, and then broke off one small branch after another with my hands.  Snap. Snap. Snap. Braced myself as the ladder wobbled (quickly moving the tips of those shears away. My husband as a kid fell out of a tree with pruners going into his eye socket–he totally lucked out and needed stitches only).

Sheared that thing.

I let the main snap back in place and suddenly, as I looked up at it, allowed myself at last to realize just how high up it was. How up high I was. And why I hadn’t done this all summer.

Scrambling. Done done done. Not going back up there, not anymore today, maybe not anytime soon, no sir. Done!