Friday, November 16, 2012

Plowing By Hand

Surely I would stop before my hand was ready to develop blisters, and I did. As I type, my hands are curled awkwardly and are just sore in the slightest. Half an hour in the yard with a heaving hoe, the simplest of all plowing tools, is enough to leave me sweaty and my hair in a wreck.

It felt good. I felt the swift blade of the huge hoe cut through the soil as I swung it down. I saw how it could peel away the layer of grass as I tugged. And as I broke up the soil in satisfying clumps of red-brown and black-brown, I felt empowered.

"I can do this," I thought, "I can break up fallow soil with a hoe. I could entire fields with this."

Shoveling the clumps of soil and brown debris into the large garbade can was easy. The garbage can now stands proud and immovable. It is so heavy, and I am proud that I could lift that much soil.

Last night I worked out at the gym. Today at teatime, I had a full workout in the garden. In both cases, I built up muscles and used up fat. It felt good.

Now I must tie my hair, don an apron, and start on dinner meatballs while reciting Physics 1.1.2 out loud.

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