Work Worth Doing
The week that we moved to the country, it rained 6 inches. Many times over, we loaded up boxes and furniture in the rain, drove in the rain, made a run for it on the nearly-impassible driveway, then squelched our way through the mud that was our construction-zone yard to deliver items into the house... The house which had no electricity or running water as of yet, and wouldn't for a few more days.
The property had been neglected and abandoned for thirty years. There were weeds higher than our heads, outbuildings leaning precariously, and numerous toilets resting in the grove amongst a menagerie of other junk. New neighbors stopped by to see what we were up to and advised us to burn it all down and start over. Maybe, we replied, maybe.
The work began. We planted soft grass so the kids wouldn't be eaten alive by thistles, and then planted it again the next year when it all died. We set out fruit trees, tilled a garden, put up a fence, straightened one building. Chickens began to roost in the old granary, and goats made a home in the barn. Swings were hung in the trees, forts built in the grove, bike trails worn into the ground.
Of course, it isn't all rustic beauty and pastoral scenes. Once, I came home to a fire blazing through the dry grasses, neighbors running around to help and firetrucks skidding into the driveway. The pipes froze the first winter, so we tore up walls and insulated them again. The goats escaped their pen and munched down my entire flower bed on more than one occasion. Not to mention that daily logistics are a bit harder than they used to be, accounting for chores and weather and a commute into town. It can be overwhelming. It can be discouraging. There is so much work to do here, a lifetime of work.
Sometimes, I feel guilty for taking on such a big project as to live on 22 acres in rural South Dakota. It takes so much time as well as money, mental space, and physical energy. Our time and attention are finite resources; could they be better spent elsewhere?
Theodore Roosevelt famously said, "Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing."
Sometimes, I need to remind myself that this is, in fact, work worth doing. It is not just a hobby or an indulgence. This piece of land was left without a steward, and we are in the process of claiming it. Not claim in a proprietary sense, exactly, but more of a knowing, tending, and caring. We want to know its history, to understand how it got here: Were the wetlands always in the pasture, or did they form over time? Whose initials are carved into the barn doorframe? How did the creek get its name? And, we want to take it forward, to care for it while it is ours to care for, as best we can.
We are working. We are putting our hand to the ground, as farmers say, and working to bring forth flourishing. The garden produces, the goats eat down the weeds, the new trees steadily grow, native flowers take root. Trees are removed from where they should not be and planted where they should be. Children climb trees and plant pumpkin seeds, chickens and ducks chase down grasshoppers in tall grass, cows graze the pasture.
We are willing to do the work, and it is work worth doing.
