And There's Not Even a Couch Out There

Believe it or not, some mornings I wake up and just don’t want to farm. It doesn’t happen often and it is usually on the “other” blue plastic duck pool changing days (makes my slippers muddy and don’t dare tell me to wear proper footwear.) I have to farm though. David’s back is not ready and will not be ready for weeks and the kids are typically off to school so I must (I must, increase my bust; The bigger the better the tighter the sweater.) Sorry, couldn’t help myself; it’s a strange and involuntary reaction whenever I say the phrase “I must.” The same thing happens when I say “France” (where they wear no underpants.) I really need to talk to my shrink about upping my meds.

Neuroses aside, after the Pint is fed and carefully ensconced in front of the choo-choo show playing medium, I don my pigskin gloves (my only proper farm attire) and head on out. You all know what I do; I told you about it the other day. What I did not tell you in enough detail, however, is the therapeutic affect is has on me.

Yesterday morning, for reasons I will not go into, and no it did not have a thing to do with David the Husband, I was grumpy, in fact pretty darned upset. I didn’t want to do farm chores; I didn’t want to make one task-resembling effort. But (see paragraph one) I headed out there and, no lie, with 10 minutes I was a different person. No, I wasn’t doing cartwheels in the yard and singing “I Love a Parade.” (By the way, I have never done a successful cartwheel. That is how un-coordinated I am and how low my center of gravity is.) However, I was more at peace with myself and not quite so uncomfortable in my own skin and, by the time I walked back to the house with muddy poo-encrusted slippers (I left them on the mat, sheesh), I was okay.

I can garner this same effect from knitting and from spinning, but not as instantly and not if I am get-the-straight-jacket-ready upset.

So today I will say a special thank you to farming and to my husband who has helped make our little pretend farm happen. As in the immortal lyrics of The Beatles, “Sheep are all you need.”

Or something like that.

Comments

[Michelle]

Hey Lauren, I'm trying to link to this post in my blog, but all I can get is a link to your blog in general and not to a specific post. Can you help me?

[melanie]

Gawd! I thought I was the only one who knew that little ditty about "I must, I must..."

I too, am usually calmed by farm chores. Not everyday, but usually. Your blog makes me smile - thanks for today's dose.

melanie

P.S. Too much poo sticks to the fur on slippers. Personally, I prefer the Crocs, where only the most determined poo can slip through the holes...