It’s been a cold weekend. Snow came to the deep south in Georgia on Sunday. I missed it because I’ve been with Marion at her home in Newnan. My son sent me pictures of my place blanketed in white. Snow stuck to the trees, shrubs, and the steps up to the kitchen porch. It looked like a winter postcard.

When the sun came out in Newnan, we bundled up and took a walk down to the lake behind her house. From inside, the lake looked inviting. The sunshine looked warm.

Down by the water the wind made it feel like we’d been shipped off to the Antarctic. It didn’t take us long to look at a few ducks and decide that it was time to go back inside.

In my 70th year, I don’t think that I have the tolerance I once had for the cold weather. I’ve worked outside my entire life. I know how to push through the rain. I understand how to layer up in the cold. I’ve never let the temperature make me timid about doing what needed to be done.

Last week I was standing at the back door with a cup of coffee in my hand. The grey shades of dawn were beginning to give way to the emerging daylight. I was looking down through the woods toward the creek behind my house, thinking about the clearing I wanted to get done before spring comes.

My goal is to be able to see the creek without obstruction from the back porch. I spent a good bit of time last fall taking out a few small trees and limbing up the bigger ones to raise the canopy and open the view. I got some of the smaller brush cut down. The view is improving.

But I’m staring at the last thirty feet along the creek, which is all grown up in cane, saplings, briars, and undergrowth of various kinds. I ran out of gas last fall and didn’t finish. The gnarly buffer along the creek makes all the other work look pointless.

My thought was to wait until winter to finish the work. Less chance of snakes. I hate snakes. Less chance of yellow jackets. I hate yellow jackets even more. In cooler weather, I thought, I can last longer out there.

So, winter has come. I’m looking out the window at the work which I said I would do. And I’m finding it difficult to muster up the motivation. It’s 21° out there. The debate in my head is making me feel older than I am.

“You should be out there right now.”

“Why? It could wait until things warm up.”

“You’ve got other things to do this afternoon.”

“I know, but I could do those things now.”

“You’re making excuses.”

“No I’m not. I’m being logical. It’ll be warmer after lunch.”

“You’re such a wuss.”

Shame got the best of me. I laced up my leather boots. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Shoved my old bones into my insulated coveralls. And covered my head and ears with a wool sock cap.

By the time I walked down the porch steps, the sun was beginning to throw shadows on the woodland floor. I went out to the shop and put the brush blade on my weed eater. Three pulls on the cord and the old Stihl came to life.

You probably know this is true. I’ve had to discover this over and over, again and again along the way. The more you stand in fear of a job, the bigger it seems. The more excuses you make, the more difficult it becomes to start. But once you start, the job shrinks. Once you find a rhythym, you begin to scold yourself for putting it off as long as you did.

The thing I really like about this kind of work is that it turns my mind to other things. Cutting weeds to the ground is not exactly rocket science. It’s doesn’t take a lot of concentration. My brain cells were free to navigate the more critical issues of life.

As I think back on that morning now, I realize that my thoughts had turned into something like a prayer. I guess that’s what I would call it. A mix of meditations and reflections about the person I am and the journey I’m travelling.

You see, I don’t want to be the kind of man who makes excuses to avoid the difficult things in life. When faced with a challenge, I want to find the resolve to stand up and face it head on. The obstacles are never as foreboding as I think they might be. The pain is never as fierce as I imagine. The task is never as demanding up close as from a distance.

By now I can feel the sweat inside all these layers I’ve got on. I can also feel a tenderness in my back that didn’t used to be there. But the creek bank is giving way to the work.

One day, I’ll be gone from this earth. This creek will still be here. The next fella that comes along will not know nor appreciate the effort I’m putting in today. But I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing this for the satisfaction and the beauty that will come of it when I look back on it in a few months.

The weather will turn warm. In late spring the Mountain Laurel that grows in thickets along the other side of the creek will bloom. From my porch I will be able to see what has been hidden for a long time. A Blue Heron will forage along the bank. I will sip on my coffee and watch the world unfold.

Work like this is not as easy for me as it once was, but the payoff is the same. The visible difference comes with effort. The change that takes shape is always pleasing. The reward runs deeper than the aches and pains endured for the sake of something better.

This is the way any change for the better is made. Family. Marriage. Friendships. The story is as old as man himself. Beauty can be overrun with weeds. Briars will grow in places where love is left untended. This world, this life is not perfect.

I have been given the work of tending, and working, and reclaiming the beauty that is hidden. It’s almost a divine appointment, I suppose. I can stand at the window and moan about what needs to be done, or I can suit up and go do the work.

When my weed eater sputtered and ran out of gas, I have to be honest, I was ready for a break. I’ve gone out two other mornings since and I am slowly winning the battle against the world of Palmetto Creek. Maybe two more mornings and I’ll be done.

Nothing worthwhile comes without effort. The hard things always hold the best gifts.

From where I stand, I’m glad the dread and fear didn’t win that cold winter morning.

Neither can we afford to let them win in life either. There’s just too much hidden beauty waiting to be uncovered.