On Sunday, Kyle and I were sitting in our backyard, staring at the ivy. It is Afghanistan Ivy. Some brilliant person planted it back there 20-30 years ago, thinking it would make a reliable, drought-resistant ground cover. And boy is it ever.

See, in California, Afghanistan Ivy is an invasive species. It just loves it here. Nothing eats it. It spreads by root and by vine, both creeping under the soil and up every surface above ground. It winds around other trees like a boa constrictor and chokes them. And, when it gets very old, it grows into a tree and begins to make berries to further propagate itself.

We had two such ivy trees in our backyard, and subsequently, our yard is covered with ivy.

(In this picture, the ivy is choking the tree next to it. I don’t have a picture of the ivy trees themselves, but it gives you an idea of the back fence before.)

I have been dutifully killing it, but it’s coming back already, its shiny new green leaves waving like plastic lily pads at me. So on Sunday, Kyle asked me if I wanted to take down the ivy trees, even though it meant we would have less privacy in our backyard for awhile. I said yes. Or rather, YES. He got out the chainsaw.

I knew that taking down these two large trees meant that I would have less privacy. I didn’t realize how much it would open up the space, or how much sunlight it would let into the backyard. The ivy was dark, heavy, and full of bugs. As the trees came down, my backyard suddenly seemed huge and sunny. For the first time, I liked it back there.

As for privacy, I plan to replace the ivy trees with another tree, maybe an olive or something that flowers. But the truth is, I will probably never get rid of the ivy altogether. Even if I manage to eradicate it from my yard, the house next door has at least two trees of it.

Seeing those hated trees come down limb by sneaky limb was satisfying, let me tell you.