Frieda has come so far. She hangs out with chickens, lies by my feet while I write, dozes with the other dogs, and has not run off after some animal in a year. She has found her stride and her work. She guards the farm. She is ever vigilant, on the lookout for people who dare to drive loud trucks or walk past the farm. She alert us to visitors and intruders. She is always working to protect us, to make us safe, to keep us safe. She has finally found her work, and it is appreciated.
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not feel lost. That is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.” – Henry David Thoreau.
I think I admire Thoreau as much or more than any man or woman whose writings I read regularly. He is nothing but an inspiration to me, and a guide to living a self-determined life. I know if he were alive today he would not be fussing about health care, demanding his retirement security, listening to the “news” all day, counting his IRA, allowing fear to shape and dictate life. He seemed to have a genius for keeping his eye on what was important to him, even at some risk. That is real courage to me.
Like many great thinkers, he saw work as the centerpiece of identity, and in some ways, of life. Freud added love to the mix, and Thomas Merton said you cannot live a meaningful life without faith. I suppose they are all correct in different ways. I am working to have all of those things in my life.
Labor Day is a murky holiday in America right now, perhaps because the very idea of work is muddled in so many other things, many of them fearful. People work to make money, afford houses and cards, buy health care, have a “secure” retirement, send their kids to college. I personally hope the Stock Market floats out to sea, the sooner the better.
But I would hate to see the idea of finding work we love fade. I don’t see anyone parading on behalf of work we love, or the joy of the castles we build in the air. Work we love is important. It is, to me, what Labor Day is about, and I’ve never read or heard an intelligent thinker, from Thoreau to Steve Jobs, who didn’t talk about how important it is to find work we love. If that is taken from us, we have lost something dear. If we take it from ourselves, we have lost even more.
When I was thinking of buying Bedlam Farm, I was terrified. A writer’s life is not a secure or predictable one, nor, really, is anyone’s. I decided to buy my castle in the air because I loved it, and I felt I would come to love the work I did here. That happened, and then I came to love the person who would share it with me. Every day, I am building my castle in the air, and working to put a foundation under it. Every day.
This morning, I slid down the pasture, and my back is making me pay. I can’t wait to feel better. Even so, I got my photos, put up stories on my blog, wrote a chapter in my Frieda book.
I wish I had my video camera to catch Rose pushing the sheep out of the mist. Maybe tomorrow. More rain today. Work crews in Vermont are the new heroes, opening up one town after another. Community works.
Rose is a proud working woman. She gets it done.
Rose, digging the sheep out of the mist.
On Labor Day, I honor the greatest working creature I have had the pleasure to know, Rose. She came to the farm with me when she was six months old, she has saved my life more than once, worked hard every day to watch my book, move sheep, help with lambing, round up neighbor’s cows, even goats. She loves her work and does it faithfully, with courage, intelligence and professionalism. She has battled coyotes, wild pigs, angry rams, enraged mothers, protective donkeys. She’s been kicked, run over, cut open her stomach on barbed wire, collapse from dehydration and heat.
She has never failed me, never forgets me, is a great presence in my life. On Labor Day I honor my passion for work that I love, and I honor an animal whose great spirit inspires me every day to do my work, do it well.
