Maybe it’s a good thing that I spend most of the daylight hours of the week in an office in town. There are plenty of days that I resent the time I have to spend indoors, knowing that the sun is shining, the roses are blooming, and the grass would be soft and lush under my feet ... if only I could be home to enjoy it. But, it occurs to me that if I had that kind of freedom every day, would these pleasures be as sweet as they were on this past holiday Monday? Would I become complacent about the sky and the wind and the sunshine if they were mine every day?
It’s spring on the prairies. Not only that, but it’s spring after an unusually long, bitterly cold, never-ending winter. We are all so very ready for days that don’t require jackets. Even with piles of filthy snow still lingering on our front lawns and mud and winter trash everywhere else, isn’t it glorious to be outside? When those first rays of warm sunshine hit your skin, didn’t it feel like being re-born? Isn’t it thrilling to find those first tiny sprigs of green grass? I can remember searching for them when I was just a little kid, and I have it on very good authority that the thrill of finding green is still there in your mid eighties. We never tire of spring.
It seemed that the unseen forces of the cosmos came together on Monday to give me a perfect day. First and foremost, my presence was not required anywhere else. My time was completely my own. Even the daily chore of meal making was taken care of with a fridge full of leftovers. I could spend the day as I pleased.
I walked the yard - well, as much of it as I could - at this time of the year, a river runs through it and fills a small lake that has been used as both skating arena and rafting venue over the years. I would have wandered farther, but I made a common springtime discovery - I seem to have a hole in my rubber boots! I sized up the repairs needed on my clothesline, and finally took down the Christmas lights. I saw my first robins: all was well with the world.
After dinner we toured the pasture, scouting out how many calves had been born since the last time he had checked, and tagging the babies. We even discovered one cow who was going to need help and I was there to be part of the action. It is seldom that I get to feel like I’m a contributing part of the farm so this was special ... and the outcome was the best it could have been - a healthy (big) calf, and a tired but dutiful mama whom we left to bond for the rest of the afternoon.
Back in the yard I decided that it was the perfect time to pump up the bike tires and take it out for a spin. I can hardly express how many levels of success this establishes. It has been at least 15 years since I rode a bike, so merely not falling off and breaking bones rates an award, but besides that I went a whole mile, wobbling down the road like a five year old just shed of her training wheels - it was magnificent!
The day came to a close with me firing up the barbeque for supper, the sun’s fading rays warming the deck so much that I could still be barefoot and sleeveless even as evening approached. The skies had been alive with geese heading north all day, and in the time it took to cook the steaks, at least another thousand went over ... and I thought to myself ... I love where I live.
It’s more than just the land location (although our own little piece of the prairie is a very important part of it for me), it’s the wide open skies, the wild storms, the native flowers, the endless fields of grain, the smell of damp, fertile earth, the yipping of fox kits playing puppy games after sundown. It’s feeling infinitesimally small standing under the canopy of the Milky Way ... well, you get what I mean.
And, maybe the job in town plays its own role in how I feel too. If I had all day, every day, to soak it all in, would one day of heaven mean as much?
