I put on leather work gloves today....
Now, I don't know if you've ever worn leather work gloves. I had a pair as a teen that were perfect. They fit perfectly. They had a red lining at the cuff. They had a snap at the wrist. My father bought them for me to protect me from callouses and splinters.
I haven't worn work gloves in years. The cows have gone, the horses have gone: I haven't had reason to apply a leather work glove to my hand in some time.
My good leather gloves are long gone. My father found a pair of size large gloves and put them out for me, so as to protect my hands from thorns and splinters, and the fire that we were burning the brush in. He always seems concerned about my hands, my Dad does.
I was leaning on a fork in the yard, waiting for the fire to burn down some. I could spent hours leaning on a fork. I've composed some of my best songs, had many an epiphany, and solved most of my young life's problems leaning on a fork. It's just a great place to lean.
As I was leaning, a could smell the smell of leather work gloves. I love that smell, and for some reason, work gloves never lose their new-work-glove smell the way a car loses its new-car smell.
The smell of leather brought me back.
It brought me back to the day that five five hundred pound bull calves got out from around me and decided to wreak havoc on my father's freshly cleaned barn.
(I'm not sure if you realize what twenty five hundred pounds worth of bull calves can do to a barn in a short period of time. I'll say that there was much yelling, much hollering, many heifers bawling, many fresh cows jumping, and many, many tears on my part. But my father, the Manitoba Maple hating guy that he is, managed to get the situation under control.)
That smell brought me back to sweating in July, in the barn, with the heifers kicking out at me while I worked. When handle of the wheel barrel broke off and load after load of liquid manure was dumped on the barn floor.
It brought me back to doing hay, when the chafe sticks to the back of your neck so thick that it feels like mud caked on, and it scratches and it burns, and you realize that there are ten more loads to do and it's only three o'clock. And inevitably the bailer has already broken twice, and the elavator's belt has gone three times, and the weather man has called for rain at six the next morning.
It brought me back to the coldest months in February, out behind the barn in the grain bins. It brought me back to the wind howling and the spiders that lived in the bins, and the dark and the scariness and the pounds and pounds of grain that I was never strong enough to lift.
Today, I was outside, on the nicest day of this year so far. I was working with my mom and my dad.
My mom and I took a walk to look at what will one day be my very own twelve acres of strawberry plants. I was walking in the field, picturing the beautiful sod I'll have, and the hut that will be built, and the picnic tables and the berries. I was dreaming, and walking with my mother, picturing my life, here in the middle of nowhere.
No concrete. No buses. No hordes of people lining up to get into the coffee shop at six before they head down town. No horns honking. No strangers. No apartment buildings. No neighbors.
Just me, my fruit, my family, and the people I love.
At around seven this evening, after the supper had been made, showers had, and kitchen cleaned, my best friend came over for a visit. I haven't yet told her about my plan to move back home and start my own berry farm. I actually don't think I've even made a formal announcement to most of the people I know. But, after my day spent working, reminiscing, and being with my family, I was so excited to show her my fields, to show her what I'm going to be doing.
And I asked her to take a walk with me, to look at it with me.
She said "Look at what?"
And I said "Look at my life. It's here. It's where I need to be, want to be, love to be. It's my life, and it's just at the end of the drive way."
And we took a walk, and we looked at my life. And it made me happy.
Toonses
I haven't worn work gloves in years. The cows have gone, the horses have gone: I haven't had reason to apply a leather work glove to my hand in some time.
My good leather gloves are long gone. My father found a pair of size large gloves and put them out for me, so as to protect my hands from thorns and splinters, and the fire that we were burning the brush in. He always seems concerned about my hands, my Dad does.
I was leaning on a fork in the yard, waiting for the fire to burn down some. I could spent hours leaning on a fork. I've composed some of my best songs, had many an epiphany, and solved most of my young life's problems leaning on a fork. It's just a great place to lean.
As I was leaning, a could smell the smell of leather work gloves. I love that smell, and for some reason, work gloves never lose their new-work-glove smell the way a car loses its new-car smell.
The smell of leather brought me back.
It brought me back to the day that five five hundred pound bull calves got out from around me and decided to wreak havoc on my father's freshly cleaned barn.
(I'm not sure if you realize what twenty five hundred pounds worth of bull calves can do to a barn in a short period of time. I'll say that there was much yelling, much hollering, many heifers bawling, many fresh cows jumping, and many, many tears on my part. But my father, the Manitoba Maple hating guy that he is, managed to get the situation under control.)
That smell brought me back to sweating in July, in the barn, with the heifers kicking out at me while I worked. When handle of the wheel barrel broke off and load after load of liquid manure was dumped on the barn floor.
It brought me back to doing hay, when the chafe sticks to the back of your neck so thick that it feels like mud caked on, and it scratches and it burns, and you realize that there are ten more loads to do and it's only three o'clock. And inevitably the bailer has already broken twice, and the elavator's belt has gone three times, and the weather man has called for rain at six the next morning.
It brought me back to the coldest months in February, out behind the barn in the grain bins. It brought me back to the wind howling and the spiders that lived in the bins, and the dark and the scariness and the pounds and pounds of grain that I was never strong enough to lift.
Today, I was outside, on the nicest day of this year so far. I was working with my mom and my dad.
My mom and I took a walk to look at what will one day be my very own twelve acres of strawberry plants. I was walking in the field, picturing the beautiful sod I'll have, and the hut that will be built, and the picnic tables and the berries. I was dreaming, and walking with my mother, picturing my life, here in the middle of nowhere.
No concrete. No buses. No hordes of people lining up to get into the coffee shop at six before they head down town. No horns honking. No strangers. No apartment buildings. No neighbors.
Just me, my fruit, my family, and the people I love.
At around seven this evening, after the supper had been made, showers had, and kitchen cleaned, my best friend came over for a visit. I haven't yet told her about my plan to move back home and start my own berry farm. I actually don't think I've even made a formal announcement to most of the people I know. But, after my day spent working, reminiscing, and being with my family, I was so excited to show her my fields, to show her what I'm going to be doing.
And I asked her to take a walk with me, to look at it with me.
She said "Look at what?"
And I said "Look at my life. It's here. It's where I need to be, want to be, love to be. It's my life, and it's just at the end of the drive way."
And we took a walk, and we looked at my life. And it made me happy.
Toonses
posted by Amanda at 00:47
1 Comments:
Lovely post!
I'm excited! I love berries :)
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