Day of Rest

A few decades ago, my ex and I moved irrigation pipe on a peanut farm in southwestern Oklahoma. At sunup we would be moving the long lengths of pipe a few rows over. Twelve hours later, still blisteringly hot, we’d do it again.

We moved pipe twice a day, seven days a week. We were young and strong, and the hours weren’t bad, but I can still remember the joy of those days when at least an inch of rain had fallen and we got the whole day off.

Responsibility, then, was that job.

Now, it’s a job, a family to feed, chickens to tend, a garden, finances and paperwork, and my writing. When thunderstorms move in and I have a morning off, I have to tell myself that it’s okay to read, write something that isn’t on deadline, or sit quietly and think. I won’t do laundry, clean out the refrigerator, or start any job that’s on my perpetually evolving to-do list.

It’s a beautiful world, and some of us take it much too seriously.

Yes, serious homestead folk, it’s okay to rest every now and then. Sit down at the piano. Pick up the guitar. Find your puzzle book or sketchpad. Better yet, don’t do anything but breathe and see how green the world looks after a hard spring rain.

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