I think life on a rural Nevada mine dump rocks.
I mean it in the most literal sense. If you grow up on a mine dump, you learn how to entertain yourself, with a rock if you must. If you stick around to make the mine dump your home, you find no shortage of rocks and dirt to move.
The experience of it can have two affects: it embodies empowerment (I moved a mountain today.), or a sense of slavery (More rocks? Seriously!).
Good thing a dirty girl has perspective.
In my short lifetime I have had my share of dirt and rock moving experiences. Oh buddy.
I would guesstimate that if you stacked all the rocks I have moved into one magnificent pile it would amount to a large mountain. And if you covered it with the poop I have moved it would be a three day hike to the top. Ha Ye.
It started with little projects like my Dad saying, “I need a hole dug right here by the time I get home from work tonight.” I would hack away at the rocky ground for what seemed like hours and never find a pipe. I would try to pry rocks out with the digging bar but then, it was way too heavy to maneuver.
And, when my Dad got home from work he would take two big scoops out of my hole and wa la, a pipe. I would pinch my eyebrows together in dismay.
“No worries girl, I only had to dig a little.” He would say.
When I was older, I remember covering a pipe that was as long as a football field with dirt. And afterwards I sat there on the ice chest and looked at that ditch with this idea that I was amazing. My Dad handed me a cold MGD and that first sip was like drinking sunshine in a bottle.
Empowered? Definitely. I have been good friends with my shovel ever since.
So, spring has sprung and the dirt and rock moving has begun. When I found my favorite spade shovel in the “man cave,” and my hands touched the wooden handle, I swear I had this little feeling of relief. It was like my hand said to the shovel, ‘Oh good, I didn’t lose you.’
Since then my little family has hauled no less than five truck-loads of cheat grass seed and old weeds to the dump; and stacked and moved rocks until every single one of us has a black spot on some finger or toe this season. It is good that none of us are allergic to dirt.
Confession: I still absolutely LOVE an ice cold MGD after a hard day mucking.
And, here’s to moving mountains and covering them with poop! I hope you have a wild Wednesday.