My brother and I grew up on an orchard, I think I’ve told you that before. It was within the the orchard I learned to love solitude– of being surrounded by things called nature.
Often times I would take myself out into the orchards and lay down (sometimes in the ditches), totally oblivious of getting weeds and leaves in my hair or stuck to my clothes; stare up into the leaves of the trees–the sight more beautiful than any photograph could ever be.
Spring, winter, summer, fall I was washed with sunlight, starlight and the beams of the moon.
I told you this story, because I guess I need to confess, I’m tired anymore. I’ve taken two rather bad tumbles lately, one on the ditch bank, where I actually fell quiet flat on my back and probably would have made a great clip for America’s Funniest Home Videos. And yesterday, when I slid sideways, throwing myself completely flat on my right side, my head hanging down into the little creek at the bottom of the slight hill.
I was on a trail in the Old Apricot Orchard— checking fences, so Romeo (Shannon’s) horse couldn’t get out. I laid there looking up at the sky, weeds and grasses way over my head–fat bees buzzed nearby, a drove of gnats swarmed overhead, and a ladybug stopped dead in her tracks, on a blade of grass, to see what fell into her perfect little world.
Laying there caused me to remember those carefree days of willfully lying down amongst the plant life as a child.
This morning Terry confessed he was very tired also. “We are getting old,” he sadly said. “We just can’t work like we use to do.”
“Maybe we ARE old”, I replied. “But, maybe, just maybe, what we really need is a break from work. Maybe what we need is to do something so different our minds and bodies can rest.”
“A min-vacation!” Terry exclaimed. “But first—there is the pinto bean harvest to get through!” Which gave us a good laugh.
Your friend on a western Colorado Farm