Yesterday was a day of planting and digging. I got to my folks' place after work around 8:30am and raked my raised beds smooth. I was thinking hobbit-thoughts (of peace and comfort and good food) when my father woke and came out to join me. Off we went on a great adventure to the local nursery in search of veggies to plant in the garden.
As usual, we came home with more than we had room for, and so we rushed to Barefoot Manor to build the raised beds I had planned for here. Now I have 4 beautiful boxes for my raised beds, and the work of digging up a mountain of compost and black dirt to fill them is all mine.
Though I had been up well over 24 hours by the time our work was done for the day, I felt wonderful. Well, mostly wonderful. I had been digging in the dirt, and had spent the day sharing my plans for the house and yard with my Dad. I think the best thing about my Dad is that, being a do-it-yourself-er himself, he never thinks my projects are too much. He joins me in my enthusiasm, and likes to help me come up with ways to accomplish the tasks I set before myself.
It was good.
Soon I will have a week off of work (when Mr. Barefoot goes to California) and I am looking forward to using that time to accomplish some things around the yard and house.
Perhaps time spent with my hands in the dirt will be the antidote to this poisonous fog of apathy that has been keeping me prisoner.