I heave a great sigh of
relief after the small
work in the garden or
moving a bit of winter
wood is done.
How does this compare to
the labor of those who cleared
this land 200 years ago? How
did they rest after a hard day
of taming field and forest?
The stone walls that outline “my”
property stand as mute testimony
to the effort that set them there.
Not only the physical labor, but the
unrelenting need to have it done...
not to be pretty or rustic or showy,
but because gahdammit the sheep
will wander off, or the stones will
break the plow.
In the evening, did the farmer
or the woodsman get to sink
gratefully into a soft chair, with
a cold beer and a baseball game
to doze in front of? More likely
it was a hard chair, and a cold
trip to the barn because the
calf was failing.
But surely there were times,
then as now, when friends
gathered in the evening and
put aside their aching backs,
ate food that had been lovingly
prepared, drank fruits of the
land that had been carefully
fermented and, for a while,
rested.