Shoveling dirt is one of the most dignified things you can do. And, fun. You tend to forget those points when you haven’t shoveled in a while.
Recently, we brought some baby fir trees to our slice of this earth. Getting spots ready to plant them, my wife and I pulled out the trusted shovel and gave the turf that “dig-in” move, then stood on top of the metal to give the tool further leverage to pierce deeper.
Dig, deposit. Dig, deposit. Repeat.
You start sweating quickly. Your heartrate goes up. You breathe deeply. Nature smells of grass, pine, early spring flowers flow through your nose. You achieve a rhythm.
On big reason I love shoveling is the work involved. You accomplish something. There is a beginning (dig the hole for the plant and store the dirt to the side), middle (put the baby pine in the hole), and end (cover the base with dirt and water it). Then you get to mulch.
Our neighbor cut down a number of dead trees over the winter at the boundary line of our property. He ground up the stumps, leaving wood mulch. If you haven’t smelled that heavenly aroma, I charge you with finding some fresh cut mulch and breathing deeply through both nostrils. This will please you. Or make you sneeze.
After we planted the small firs, I dug into the much pile. Still moist, the pungent wood-smell wafted up as I tossed piles around the base of the next generation of trees to grace our property. Dig, sniff, toss. Dig, sniff, toss. Ah.
Last year we planted two blue spruce trees. At that time, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wielded a shovel. It showed. I was out of breath after digging half of one of the holes. Part of that’s the aging process of the one using the shovel, but the other part is that the dignity of shoveling means you’re pushing yourself, getting your body to take on new demands. That helps you grow and develop. Grow muscles (if you keep doing it) and develop a sore back and biceps (the longer you shovel).
Soreness, stiffness and aching parts of your body are a natural reaction to shoveling. It’s your body’s way of telling you that you did a good thing -- you tested some boundaries, sweated, applied focus to the task at hand.
The shovel helps new life spring forward. The shovel allows us to insulate plants to store moisture. Digging is Zen-like as your soul gains comfort with repetition.
We continue to dig and plant, adding biodiversity to the land we serve. We’re contributing to a greater whole (ha, or “hole” if you’d prefer that) with the shovel by adding trees, doing our part locally to help with carbon absorption.
The shovel helps us grow the forest, protect its health. It’s a dignified tool. And, there is great dignity for those who master it.
The shovel makes the world a better place. Use it.
Recently, we brought some baby fir trees to our slice of this earth. Getting spots ready to plant them, my wife and I pulled out the trusted shovel and gave the turf that “dig-in” move, then stood on top of the metal to give the tool further leverage to pierce deeper.
Dig, deposit. Dig, deposit. Repeat.
You start sweating quickly. Your heartrate goes up. You breathe deeply. Nature smells of grass, pine, early spring flowers flow through your nose. You achieve a rhythm.
On big reason I love shoveling is the work involved. You accomplish something. There is a beginning (dig the hole for the plant and store the dirt to the side), middle (put the baby pine in the hole), and end (cover the base with dirt and water it). Then you get to mulch.
Our neighbor cut down a number of dead trees over the winter at the boundary line of our property. He ground up the stumps, leaving wood mulch. If you haven’t smelled that heavenly aroma, I charge you with finding some fresh cut mulch and breathing deeply through both nostrils. This will please you. Or make you sneeze.
After we planted the small firs, I dug into the much pile. Still moist, the pungent wood-smell wafted up as I tossed piles around the base of the next generation of trees to grace our property. Dig, sniff, toss. Dig, sniff, toss. Ah.
Last year we planted two blue spruce trees. At that time, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wielded a shovel. It showed. I was out of breath after digging half of one of the holes. Part of that’s the aging process of the one using the shovel, but the other part is that the dignity of shoveling means you’re pushing yourself, getting your body to take on new demands. That helps you grow and develop. Grow muscles (if you keep doing it) and develop a sore back and biceps (the longer you shovel).
Soreness, stiffness and aching parts of your body are a natural reaction to shoveling. It’s your body’s way of telling you that you did a good thing -- you tested some boundaries, sweated, applied focus to the task at hand.
The shovel helps new life spring forward. The shovel allows us to insulate plants to store moisture. Digging is Zen-like as your soul gains comfort with repetition.
We continue to dig and plant, adding biodiversity to the land we serve. We’re contributing to a greater whole (ha, or “hole” if you’d prefer that) with the shovel by adding trees, doing our part locally to help with carbon absorption.
The shovel helps us grow the forest, protect its health. It’s a dignified tool. And, there is great dignity for those who master it.
The shovel makes the world a better place. Use it.