Manual Labor

Having grown up on a farm there is little on this earth that gives me more satisfaction than a long day of hard physical labor. This past week a bunch of my family gathered at my parents farm to help get the ol' homestead whipped into shape. A veritable Spring cleaning if you will. We dubbed the effort the Triple L Farm Reclamation Act and were pleased as punch to have so many able bodied favorites show up to put their own personal twist on the farm clean-up. The picture above is of my gorgeous sister-in-law (a trait, apparently, among my sister's in law). We were donning our super-sweet bandanas in an effort to keep out the cockleburs, aka kookaburras (courtesy of my niece). It kept the little velcro inspirations out of our locks and made us look tough!

I was in heaven. I was outside from 9 or 10AM until dinner and even later a couple nights. My bro and I got to work side by side. I bumped my elbows on barn doors, started and extinguished a grass fire, tripped on abandoned fencing, scratched my arms and torso on trees and branches, exhausted my hands and forearms running a chain saw, bruised my legs (literally) from toes to hips, and grinned almost the entire time. My back hurts, my shoulders are sore, my legs are tight, and my hands still ache when I try to make a fist but I feel renewed, returned to myself, at home once again in this body of mine. I wonder if we all might benefit from getting off our phones, computers, ipads, ipods, iphones, Blackberrys, smart phones, droids, Kindles, and other back-lit devices and out into dust and dirt and trees and mud. It seems to have almost saved me. From what, I can't tell you, but I can say with certainty that I am filled to the point of bursting with something that feels a lot like bliss.


Mom in the garden


Jedd and my nieces chillin' on the flatbead trailer.


My super hot hubby driving the skid loader.