This was one of those early September mornings with fog close to the ground yet clear skies and sun above so all appeared shrouded in golden mist. It was only a matter of minutes until the moist air dried and the mist evaporated but I marvelled in the surrounding gilded fog bath in the meantime.
Every morning and every evening I have water barrel filling duty as one of my farm chores. As this is a portable barrel, which goes into whichever field the horses go, we simply fill it using a hose that stretches from the barn, rather than investing in automatic watering systems. It doesn’t sound very efficient but standing with a hose filling a 50 gallon barrel 10 minutes twice a day has its upsides. It is a good time to reflect on the day that is dawning and the day that is wrapping up. It is a good time to scan the fields and trees, survey the fences, and deeply suck in fresh air. In short, it’s a time to fill up my own tank when I’m feeling “dry”. Some weeks bring more to contemplate than others.
Four years ago this week hundreds of thousands of Americans were left homeless, bruised and battered physically and emotionally, and many dead in the Gulf Coast region after a hurricane proved it was far mightier than any disaster planning table top exercise or exhaustive textbook scenario. In the horrific irony of post-storm flooding, people died of dehydration surrounded by water. Their homes and neighborhoods overflowed while they themselves were parched. It was an agony that was impossible for the rest of us to fathom, comfortable as we were in our corner of the world. By simply turning on a faucet, I can watch gallons and gallons of clean fresh water pour out of my barn hose for my horses to drink, and I think about how many people this water barrel could have saved from certain death that fateful week. If only I could have magically transported my deep well, my hose, and my barrel where it was needed, I would have filled it over and over as they quenched their thirst. So many “if onlys” in such a week.
It was also a week where a split second decision that I made while moving horses on my farm, in an effort to save time, resulted in significant injuries to two of my horses. Saving a moment resulted in untold future hours of wrapping wounds, a pile in vet bills, and my own guilty shame in making a poorly planned out decision in haste. So I force myself to stand as I fill up the water barrels and realize that a few saved minutes, a misplaced sense of control over things that are uncontrollable and just plain lack of common sense is never worth the cost to be paid. It is fool’s gold, as transient and blinding as the fog this morning and just as ephemeral.
The “what if’s”, “if onlys”, and “shouldas” in my flawed life can be dehydrating all on their own, causing more long term suffering and untold misery. So I dive into the tank that is filling up in front of me and drink deeply, bathed, saturated, and washed clean in “what is” and “what will be”, not “what should have been”. The tank will always be full, the invitation is genuine and unlike ever rising gas prices, it is given freely.
Barnstorming 