It was a lush, sunny day, but somehow I found myself in a pit of my brain anyway.
I came from a culture of abandonment and work, but have come to understand that this line of thinking is not universally useful and, in some cases, deadly.
Earlier today I was in touch with a farmer who was helping other farmers find safe refuge from the dark seas of depression. You can’t work on what won’t go away.
So when I grabbed the splitting ax and walked over to the ridge where the loggers left a coffee table-sized slice of oak trunk lying flat in the grass, I knew it better than thinking I was supposedly manly or undergoing treatment; I was simply relying on the sun and sweat to reset my system.
We have a motorized hydraulic divider and it works wonderfully, but that piece of oak was too big for me to hoist it on board without first assembling a strike team consisting of an orthopedist, chiropractor, a sports psychologist and a tub of liniment.
And yeah, for you splitter specialists, I can indeed pull a pin and put the rig to work vertically, but this little adventure was not about efficiency. I also didn’t want him to be suffocated by earplugs and fouled by exhaust fumes.
Visible from my site, there was – apart from a scattering of silver silo caps – several hundred square kilometers of wavy green capped with an infinity of blue. While I’m all for internal combustion, today’s goal was not to use it, but to defuse it.