Between yesterday and today I plowed a couple of fields, operated a dirt excavator, mucked around in fields and marsh, played fetch with a smart little cattle dog, and rode, groomed, and fed horses.
I’ve come home dirty each night. And it feels amazing.
On city days I would come home tired, but not really dirty. I’d collect the grime of the office – enough to feel dirty, but not enough to feel really “worked over.” The only things clinging to me were the stupid problems endemic to office work: someone starting up office politics or the like.
Tinged with the smell of horse, lemongrass bug spray, and dirt, I probably smell better now when I come through the door. I certainly feel better. Some of it is nostalgia, but I think a lot of it is due to nature.
The dirt is a powerful subconscious signal that I have done what’s needed to be done. And the dirt is the leavings of a day in the sun, dirt, vegetation, and animal life of *the outside world,* a place a bit less tame and a bit more real than any desk. It’s what I was made to conquer – it’s what all of us humans were made for.
When I do climb into the shower and into a clean set of clothes and a clean bed, there’s a real contrast. And in my day to day, I’m getting to be a more biological being.