Dirt

Half of one hole, about half finished

I feel like I've been living in a hole lately.

After 30 hours of digging with the backhoe,  we've been finessing the holes to just the right shape and levelness.   I figure it took another 30 hours or so with a shovel. 

All of us.

It's exhausting.

It's dirty. 

Here's the thing about dirt.  Dirt is dirty.   It makes everything around it dirty, too.

Like my boots.

And my pants.

And my hair.

The kids.  The pets.

The grass around the house.   I hate dirty grass.   

The back room floor where we keep our boots.

It is unglamorous.   Personally, I don't think the Beverly Hillbillies look suits anyone.   We've been looking like that a lot lately.   So has the house. 

It's really, really hard work.    And here's the thing about that.   I'm not all that big on getting exercise via hard physical workouts - I prefer long walks.  I'm not a 'work out at the health club' type of person.   But if I am going to work out that hard for that long, until my joints and muscles scream in pain, and then sustain that level of activity for 10, ten!, hours, then, by golly, I want something to show for it.   Something like a nice big hole. 

I look at those holes and there is a part of me that is so proud of them, I could burst.