I am feeding the cows on the knoll behind the barn in order to distribute seed and manure across the deficient pasture. Because this is where I leave their hay, this is where they congregate, and this is where I walk every morning to collect Pip for milking. I enjoy climbing the hill; it’s just high and steep enough to demand something of me, and I like the pressurized feel of blood pushing through my veins, the sound in my ears the steady thumpitythump of my laboring heart.
At the hill’s apex I look down onto the village: The town hall, an old church, a single residence. A line of mother maples aside the road. Beyond that, sloping hayfield and more forest.
This morning it was snowing as it had for half the night, and snow had accumulated atop the cows’ backs. I straddled their spines with fore and middle fingers, then ran my fingers from neck to base of tail and back again, leaving cow-colored stripes in the snow. I did this for no other reason than it felt good to do so, and maybe because it forestalled the journey back down the hill, where mundane tasks awaited me: The remainder of chores, finish installing the snowplow on the truck, a trip to Willey’s Hardware for finish nails. Work.
Pip started down the hill first, and I followed, the view of town slowly diminishing as we dropped, until I had no reason to train my eyes to anything but the hoof-worn path before me. My heart getting quieter, but I listened to it anyway. Maybe too closely. Maybe not closely enough. The air cold and full in my chest.
7 thoughts on “Maybe Not Closely Enough”
What inspiration to perceive the pleasure you derive from mundane daily routine, I daresay totally dismissed as “ho-hum” by so many of us. Taking time to stripe the backsides of your grazing cows, drinking in the visual scene of distant village, paying attention to the “thumpitythump” of your strong heart . . . all enhance life’s joys (and ours as we read your words). Thanks!
Last week I came upon a recording doing deep in the Arctic of the sound of the hearts of two Narwhals beating. Thump, thump. Sounded a lot like mine.
My six year old asked the other day: “does a whale’s heart beat very slow? Like it goes thump, and then one hour passes?” 🙂
Enjoy the Winter Solstice guys, fat and tasty holidays, may the snow keep you safe. There is certain feeling of safety where you are, of snow and water. Not so out West. Tribes had come and gone when the creeks anf tanks dried out. Water wars and fires claimed lives. The uncertainty and fragility is very evident here.
That one heart of ours, chugging along, significant, but then sure enough seizing up and mute. God are we wary of muteness, mutenesses of all stripes. Far better the snot hanging from our cows’.noses, our half-witted fumblings up and back again..
I so enjoy your posts. You so effectively describe your surroundings and your feelings as you go about your life. I can actually picture you climbing that hill and making finger tracks on the backs of the cows. Feeling appreciation for these not so ordinary “ordinary” times, gives us all respite from the depressing news that assaults us every day. Thanks for sharing.
You turned your cow into a giant chipmunk!
I appreciate your reminders to strive to be present