I love immersing myself in a difficult task. Heart, back, arms, legs. A physician friend of mine lives on a small lake (or big pond). On one shore, entangled in a stand of mulberries, was a relic from at least a couple of decades ago, a weathered, exhausted old dock. Finely crafted of cedar, it was the 2 X 12s, fatigued but soundly supporting faded memories, that I was keen on. Perfect base boards and instant character for the coop that will house my cornish roasters. Those twenty five, in only two weeks time shooting up 6″ and 3/4 of a pound. Butcher the females at 8 weeks for fryers, the males at 12 weeks for roasting.
Back to Doc’s dock. I pulled up yesterday to survey the situation and found that with some medium effort I could pry some of the structure apart with just my hands. The extended creak of extra long nails, yielding not much resistance, finally parting company with former host. “That was kind of fun.” So another, then another. Then more difficult extractions tempting me to fetch the pry bar. By this time I knew I wanted to take it apart with no tools. Less damage to the wood and providing me with one heck of an upper body workout.
I let lunchtime come and go. Fascination with the (de)construction coupled with dogged determination wiled the afternoon away. At some points the mulberry trees had actually grown up around it, a study and challenge in untying wooden knots. Fully immersed. Attention deficit quelled by labor.
And then it was done. I stepped back, looked at the piles neatly stacked according to size and desirablility. And felt good business done.
This then is how I work best. For my own satisfaction, at my own direction, accomplishment and fruits mine alone. The rewards of labor. Good honest, hard work, by two hands. Yesterday’s sweat manifested into today’s achig muscles. Feeling Really Alive.
I hope that everyone running either our Valley Forge Series or Leprechaun Chase tomorrow feels the same satisfaction come Sunday morning.
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