Somehow this little tree sprang to life in my fire pit, even though we last had a fire a little over a month ago. It’s firmly rooted on a piece of charred wood. Talk about resilience! I found some inspiration in it while walking with my head down, deep in thought, rushing between chicken chores and heading out to some responsibility for the day. I probably spent a good five minutes with the little guy, potted him up, and might even spend a few decades with this new friend. Hope and inspiration spring up in the most unusual and unexpected places.
I sprang to life at 3:45 this morning, eager to get going on the day. I’ll hop on the bike and hopefully put some beans in the ground at Tiny Farm Duluth. Then I head off to my job on another farm located just a couple miles outside the city limits. It promises to be a big day with work done on two farms, setting the stage to start painting a friend’s house tomorrow, racking up 20 miles on the bike, a little time spent writing, and family duties.
Attempting to build a farm from scratch in between moments at my other farm job, heavy rain, shuttling kids to soccer games, washing dishes, doing laundry, and all the other basic necessities of life, has been rather hectic. The need to stay sane has me scaling back expectations for Tiny Farm greatly this year, using this time to put systems in place for next season. The learning curve is just nuts. Also, time management, discipline, and organization, are all growth areas for me. Slowly, I’m whittling down to the bare necessities and building FOCUS.
Today’s great task is to find joy in the journey, choosing to be pleased that the family car is unavailable, and refusing to regret what I did not accomplish at the end of the day. There’s a chapter in my book called Joy in the Journey. It begins with a sentence describing life on the train:
Riding the rails is a feast along a bountiful reservoir of time.
Today I will strive to recover this mentality in everyday life. Ironically, you’ll find yourself being far more productive while existing in this mindset. You experience clarity, and are able to focus on what really matters.
Now 40 years old, I envy the 20-year-old embarking on a journey like this through apprenticeships and similar hard knocks, but without all the responsibilities. There’s no time for regrets or whining. We only have this one life to live. Time is ticking.
2 thoughts on “Hope and life rising from the ashes”
Box elder. We’ve got one that towers over our garden. It is a hard knocks tree that is missing a big hunk of its trunk, but its leaves shield our view of the neighbor’s garbage-y yard and the overhead electrical wires. It produces thousands of winged seeds that germinate in our garden beds every year (sigh.) A little weedy in nature, but a real hard worker that houses abundant wildlife and provides shade for a hot gardener.
Nice. Thanks for sharing! It’s the sort of thing I wish I knew offhand, and was wondering. Perhaps it could be something worth being really aggressive with for making into a bonsai. When my grandchildren get this thing handed down to them in 50 years they’ll know what the heck it is. Thanks again!