Despite all the chaos in the world eggs must still be gathered. Seeds must still be planted. Wood must still be cut and joy can still be found.
Even when I can’t find the energy to write in my farm journal the coop must still be cleaned and the grass mown. I still find the pink blooms of wild raspberries on my walks in the woods and I still wait with piquant anticipation on the arrival of goslings.
This weekend will extend the berry bed to enclose the new gooseberry and currant plants. We will buy and install bird netting because birds don’t follow politics.
The elk still appear on my morning drive to work.
I am so thankful for the things that must be done, they pull me up and away from the steady stream of bad news. They don’t replace the needful drumbeat of action but they temper, somehow, the berserker urge – like a large anchor on a small tempest tossed boat.