When you’re body is fixin’ to be laid up a while, it’s crucial to work out some of that sphizerinctum in advance. Whenever possible, it’s even more effective to intertwine that need for raw body movement with exploration by simultaneously taking a dip into that refreshing well of adventure.
This reminds of a recent argument I had with the wife. For some reason or another, our clan was sitting around on a Saturday morning doing nothing. The sun crested some mysterious meridian out the window and I began to snap, becoming increasingly difficult to be around. Shawna called me on it, but my conciliatory words were cancelled by the still impatient tone. Rather sharply, I responded, “I know you’re right. I’m sorry. Please accept that. However, I can’t sit here and analyze my tone. Let me work it out through my body…” Then I went on to varnish this painting for her:
Our bodies aren’t mere vessels of decaying flesh to be directed by the formidable command and control center between our ears. Your body is every bit as much “You” as your brain. Loving God with all our “Heart, soul, mind, and strength,” has something to do with this as well. This tension, at least to we modern souls, has been a constant companion since my days spent rotting in a corporate cubicle. I prefer to work it out with my body rather than analyze the mystery to pieces inside my brain. There’s no little man pulling levers in there. Body, mind, soul: complex beings we are…
With the recent reversion to Standard Time, the sun disappears at 4:50 pm. Daylight is not to be wasted when there are a couple of unexpectedly gorgeous days between now and shoulder surgery. And so, between the planting of spicy mix yesterday and the evening sowing of sunflower seeds, I spontaneously shoehorned in a perambulation of the Superior Hiking Trail. The dog and I headed to our next stretch of the trail: Rossini Rd to the Lake County Demonstration Forest, wasting zero time deciding where or what to do in the handful of hours at our disposal. I had hoped to make this more of an epic by running the full 15.5 miles one-way all the way to Two Harbors, but alas, this was to be a safer 10.5 mile out and back.
My slim survival kit was stuffed into the tiny pocket of the hydration backpack that has become far handier than I ever imagined: book of matches, beanie, extra Clif Bar, headlamp. The time change caught me a bit off-guard. Arriving at the somewhat remote trailhead well into the afternoon, I was happy to have the extra stuff along just in case.
This section of the trail isn’t particularly noteworthy. That said, I’d liken it to being a true fan of a band while carefully exploring their back catalog, listening song by song through every album, rather than contenting oneself with what some recording executive has determined is their “greatest hits.”
Probably the most noteworthy thing was that I truffle-shuffled out of St. Louis County, briefly poking into Lake County. About a hundred miles are behind us in our quest to hike/run/skip the whole thing.
That babbling brook provided a marvelous soundtrack. Otherwise the forest was virtually silent, the wind having taken the afternoon off. The only other sounds of note were a couple of spooked grouse (a thrilling adrenaline rush) and an oak sapling that stubbornly clung to a few dozen leaves and rattled rather creepily in a brief puff of wind shortly after we embarked. Even the owl that glided away from the trail as we approached did so without a sound.
I wish we could have spent Election Day, and beyond, deep in the woods. We sent our ballots in a long time ago. I’d prefer to step away from the drama a while. Alas, fate has me driving down to Minneapolis on election day today, the very heart of the beast, to deliver that painting pictured above, along with some of its friends, to Gallery 360. I will be fortunate to be camping this evening instead of encamped around a television set, however, as I’ll pitch my tent in the yard of one of the groomsman from my wedding. I haven’t seen the man in about a hundred years. Apparently he has become expert at brewing beer, so I’m eager to sample some varieties with him.
His family is just as strict at social distancing as we are, freaking rare indeed, so it felt great to have to sell his wife on the notion of having me sleep out in the yard and light up the darkness by sharing a campfire with her husband: I’ve had a pre-surgery COVID test in precaution, I won’t go inside, and even told Brandon I’d defecate on his compost pile if need be, haha. My wife is embarrassed when I do things like bluntly ask if I’d be permitted to eat whatever slop they’d want to provide, but I’m not going to risk this surgery by doing anything unnecessary down in the Cities. Peeps tend to be willing to bend over backward for a fella on the cusp of surgery.
Muscles and joints are rather sore today, but no ibuprofen for me. Anti-inflammatories are strictly verboten this close to surgery day.
And so, now I head off to plant all the pea and radish seeds, which will be harvested one week after I go under the arthroscopic knife. How will the harvest go with a useable left hand and family members serving as my right arm? I have no idea, but beg y’all to be patient these next couple weeks. I’ll be dropping off gigantic deliveries for your consumption on Thursday afternoon, with the hope that folks will load up. The following week my deliveries will be smaller. I’ll have no Sunny Disposition then, but there will be ample pea shoots available. Lord willing, of course…