I know nothing of farming.
My life on the land had previously consisted of childhood trips to Round Hill Farm and an adult life spent at the “Barn” watching my eldest daughter ride her horse named Glinda (yes the Good Witch).
I am soft.
While long runs had previously left me feeling scrappy, I realize I and manual labor are just now becoming acquainted.
The callouses on my palms show the world that I most likely was not raised on it.
But, it is the missing piece.
No job and a pandemic sitting on my doorstep yet hauling dirt, moving stones and dreaming of life with sheep has brought more peace then a Sunday service.
I choose to live in this moment.
Where snakes slither beneath the foundation,
and one rock dug up reveals another.
In this place I just might find my purpose.