Daily Chores Take on Significance

Our chicken coupe: the source for breakfast and stimulus to get me outside

Heading out to water the chickens and gather eggs yesterday, I was struck by light silhouetting elms and glazing spring grasses as moist clouds moved along the horizon.  That is no surprise.  Spring at Dry Creek always awakens me to outside.

Looking west from the driveway

What is more surprising is my attention to detail inside.  A couple of Sundays ago, just as COVID-19 began to really impact Utah society, I was doing dishes and noticed light coming in the window and playing the edges of glass objects sitting along the sill.

That in itself is not so abnormal.  Light always moves me.  That's why the glass is there in the first place.  No, what had changed was my need to capture the moment.  Methodically doing chores, almost ritualistically, became important.  I wanted to slow down and really live the day fully.  Perhaps it was just a way of focusing a distracted mind.

Anyway, for most of the day I followed through with it.  We had a roast.  It was originally for a late birthday dinner for my mother.  We had colds and kept delaying the celebration just in case the colds were COVID-19.  Then, the reality hit us--we shouldn't have dinner with Mom at all.  She seemed to prefer that herself.  I would too.  I love life, and although reading near-death experiences has informed me about how glorious life after death is, I want to savor every last moment here.  That is not new for me.  However, realizing how fragile our experience here really is--that was completely new.  My generation has experienced very few collective shattering events of daily life.  9/11, of course, was one such event.  But out west, away from the devastation, life moved on rather quickly after that event, which was only viewed on television.  For instance, Marci and I still went on an anniversary camping trip the following day.  It felt a little strange, but we were confident enough with the continuation of life as normal to leave our boys with their grandparents and proceed with our vacation as planned.

This is different.  As of right now, I have absolutely no clue what comes next in life.  I'd already sensed that on that first Sunday, March 15, 2020.  I had this great desire to live my day fully.  Not through escape.  Not by doing something significant.  But by doing the usual.  Doing the ordinary well became important to me.  Focus on routine became a vital means of distraction.  Noticing sunlight on the counter became my means of calming the mind.

Cutting carrots and saving the peelings for the chickens

So, as I cut up carrots and prepared the roast, I had the urge to document the beauty of daily living.  I thought about starting a blog to document and celebrate the details of daily life in this extraordinarily strange time.

Dinner is prepped.  Six hour cooking time.

Not long after I got the roast in the pan, our son Everest showed up.  Then his friend Naomi and her mother dropped by.  Together, we all walked the property, which is 90 acres of Juniper with a slice of oak and maple-filled canyon cutting at a diagonal through it.  The seasonal, snow-fed creek normally starts running March 15 and runs through the Fourth of July.  But it had not started yet.  Still, the day was warm and wonderful and we wore ourselves out walking.   Six hours later, we sat down to roast, carrots, potatoes, yams and gravy.

Although I still struggle a bit with focusing on normal activities like watching TV, daily chores take on a greater significance in my life.  I keep the dishes up; I vacuum.  When I'm outside, I notice everything.  Meanwhile, Marci has been going through old financial logs from the early 2000's when we lived on the Navajo reservation.  Together, we have been reading them like journals: a Christmas in Dallas, a walk along the River Walk of San Antonio, and so on.  We sit on the bed in the office and together travel back in time.

I would like to always remain this focused on what really matters, but I also know human nature.  This time of alertness is instinctual, part of survival mode.  Once it passes, I will be less in tune with the natural rhythms of living.  Hopefully though, I will also be less scatter-brained about the responsibilities of mechanized, modern life.  Even as I'm more alert to sunlight, I keep forgetting small responsibilities at work.  Both are relevant.  We change to meet the demands pressing in on us.  I guess, perhaps the purpose of this blog is to notice that movement and to treasure it.

While out to feed the chickens, our dog Chewy started barking at people walking up the canyon.
After going out to the road to grab him and apologize, I turned around and saw this.
Oh, how I love the fresh spring grasses!