It's The Little Things

Last week, dear reader, I had a moment of clarity and gratitude. I asked The Bibbed Wonder to burn some of the downed trees, large branches, and old wood that have been hanging around the property for several years. I have also declared this the year we get some things in order around the farm. I have made many declarations this year. Usually, when I bring up burning the brush pile by the pond, the little unused pig hut, and the big branches that have collected, he tells me it is too windy, too dry, or too dangerous to burn. Imagine my shock when I asked about it, and he was amenable. 

We spent the day dragging branches, picking up burnable materials, and creating the most ginormous fire I have seen in a long time. It was a good day to be outside, doing physical labor, and taking care of some long-needed projects. We were accomplishing a lot, and it felt good. 

I enjoy working with my husband. He is usually very patient with me. He lets me feel like I am helping when I am probably actually hindering, and he makes the most mundane task fun. As we sat watching the fire with buckets of water lined up at the ready in case the grass caught fire, we discussed nothing of any importance. I sat and read my book for a while, and he fussed and tottered about the flames. 

Eventually, he returned the Ranger to the barn and came back with the tractor to push some of the big logs into the flames, reduce the ash field, and tidy things up a bit. Before he left, he asked me if I wanted to eat Spaghetti-Os out of the can after heating them up on the flames, you know, like hobos. (Sorry if hobo is an offensive word these days.) Although I generally find Spaghetti-Os repulsive. Seriously, they are like limp noodles with ketchup and not the good ketchup, the crappy stuff from the bargain bin. Heating them on the open fire and eating like hobos sounded fun. I happily agreed, and off he went to switch out machinery and grab two cans from his Spaghetti-Os stash. 

He returned with a big smile, two spoons in a Ziplock bag, and two cans of Spaghetti-Os. He ceremoniously cracked the lid open so they wouldn't explode, then set them directly on a small bed of coals. After stirring them several times, he removed them from the flames, set them on a log, and we waited for them to cool enough that we could touch the cans. I must admit, dear reader, those were the best-tasting Spaghetti-Os I have ever eaten. As we stood leaning against a huge log, eating our hobo lunch, I looked out over our farm and thought, "How lucky are we to live this life?"

Now, granted, this life is not for everyone. However, it does not escape me that if we had stayed on our traditional paths, we would both be working indoors, with people, with a set schedule, set days off, probably only seeing each other on the weekends, and facing the grind. I much prefer to be outside, working with my animals or around the farm, doing something new and different every day, with people I actually like. I mean, I love them, but truly, I like them. In that moment, with a mouthful of fire-heated processed noodles and ketchup, I felt very, very humbled by the favor we are shown. It is the smallest, most insignificant thing, but I felt so grateful for our life. 

The spell continued throughout the day. The geese squawking, the chickens bocking, Buster at my feet, the goats in the field by the barn, and the wild Canadians keeping an ever watchful eye on our movements. We got a lot of debris cleaned up, tired our bodies with physical labor, and spent quality time together. It was a very, very good day. My unsolicited advice, dear reader, find the magic in the everyday. It's there. It's not the big grand gestures that make life worthwhile; it's the small moments, like eating a hobo lunch out of a can with your love in the middle of a field while you burn stuff. Life is good. 

On this lovely spring day, stay safe, be smart, find the magic in the everyday, and keep washing your hands.