So, one of the jobs I self-assigned to myself is the job of gathering enough kindling for the winter. Okay, I can admit several things about this self-assigned job. First, it’s not absolutely necessary for many reasons. One, we have geothermal. We are certainly not going to be cold if I fail to bring in enough kindling to start fires. And two, we have firewood already. So, while you can’t necessarily make several small chips of firewood into a hefty “overnight” log, you can always take a log and chop it up into kindling.
So, I get it. I really do. My self-assigned kindling job is definitely a “nice to have” and not a “need to have”. The reason it’s a “nice to have” is pretty simple: we take small branches that would otherwise go to waste laying in our woods and turn them into usable firewood that makes starting a fire easier in the winter. And importantly, it’s my job.
A few weeks ago, one of our tall, thin maples blew over in a storm, barely missing Darryl’s car. The tree hadn’t had the chance to “size up” growing up from a stand of taller trees around it. Therefore, a huge gust of wind was able to snap the tree over, landing just in front of the car. Now, it just happened to have happened a few weeks after Darryl had had his bicep repair so candidly, we were in no position to do much with the tree. But slowly, as Darryl has recovered and we’ve started processing the tree, he’s cut several of the limbs off and pulled them out to begin reducing to firewood. That’s where I come in.
This past weekend, we began the process of de-leafing those branches and chopping them up to uniform sizes. After leaving them to dry in the sun for a few weeks, we will eventually box them up and place them in the basement. Normally, it takes about 10-12 boxes of kindling to get us comfortably through the winter. But, since I’ve taken my job so seriously, we already have about that sitting in the basement right now. Still, when Mother Nature gives you opportunity, you can’t turn it down. Particularly when we’ve been slowly whittling away at the kindling cushion over the past few years.
So, there I was last night after my first day back at work chopping up some kindling. Candidly, it felt good. Just the slow rhythmic measuring, cutting with loppers and stacking to dry. Branch after branch after branch. The simplicity of the action, the ability to let my mind wander and the sense of satisfaction that I was doing something worthwhile – both in cleaning up our yard and in preparing for winter – was very rewarding. All day long, I flitted from meeting to meeting and email to email, just trying to catch up from a few weeks’ off. My mind was scattered and I felt largely unproductive. But clip by clip, branch by branch, I brought the day home. I had achieved something yesterday. Maybe something that had no meaning to someone else, but something that had meaning to me.
Today, as I start a thankfully more “calm” workday, I bring that sense of simple peace to this day and it reminds me that there is balance in my life. Yes, there is work and its hard, complicated and meaningful work. But it is not the focus of my being. My being is somewhere located within this rambling house or plot of land. Or with my husband and our families and pets. My focus – and indeed, my life – is not about what goes on elsewhere in the world but what happens here. Simple preparations for winter, a healthy dinner, cat vet appointments, ordering the hardwood floors for October’s renovations, preparing for a potential bumper crop harvest.
It seems as humans, we are often overstimulated and convinced to believe that we need to be vigilant about what is going on in the world. I have colleagues who are obsessed about work. Facebook is filled with political memes about the hyperbolic disasters facing us if either political party is in control of our country. And yet, at 52, I’ve lived enough to finally know a few simple truths: work will never love me back and even if they can’t show it all the time, my cats will; the world and our country has been run by both sides of the aisle and has not imploded so I refuse to give into the idea that we need to wage a culture war against our friends, families and neighbors, regardless of what side of the aisle people are on. What happens when I am with the ones I love most are the memories that truly make an impression on me. I can’t easily remember a regular day spent at the office and I barely look at Facebook anymore (I was only there for the pet and vacation pictures anyway). But, an evening spent cutting up some kindling and then having an impromptu fire in the backyard. Yep, that one goes in the memory bank.
As I continue to navigate through this one turn on earth that we call life, I need to remind myself of the zen that exists in my life. Chopping firewood. Preserving tomatoes from the garden. Making a new recipe. Taking my niece’s wedding photos. Helping my niece to spruce up her home. Picking blackberries with my sisters. Making Thanksgiving dinner. Buying and making simple Christmas gifts. A drive in the woods – or better yet, a hike in the woods – with my husband.
Zen is where you find it and you know you’ve found it when it nourishes your soul. I get too far from that zen some days, but I’m back here now and I’m loving it.
The Yuppie Homesteader 