Spring is the season between winter and summer. It is also defined as moving upward or forward in a single quick motion, or a small stream of water flowing naturally from the earth.
No matter what Webster calls it, to me, right now, spring is a pain. I have been working in the yard, and my whole body is crying for a reprieve. Moving rock, raking, hauling, bending, stooping, reaching, lifting, and dragging has done me in.
Moderation is not my top strength, and since I started the flower beds on Sunday morning, they had to be to presentable before sundown. That philosophy made Monday, Tuesday, and most of Wednesday non-productive because I could barely move.
So much for my theory of life needing balance. As I write to you this week, I can only focus on my sore muscles and joints. Nothing else seems pertinent.
My kids grew up on the farm and had numerous broken bones. My friends’ kids didn’t break their bones, so I wondered if I didn’t feed mine the right food or give them the best multi-vitamin.
Life on the farm including a three-wheeler, trampoline, driving vehicles before they could ride a bicycle, riding on tractors and combines, and momma cows with babies, didn’t make my protective mothering job an easy task.
I concluded their bones broke when my kids needed special attention. Nothing else made sense. They would get mom and dad to themselves on the way to get ex-rays and colorful casts.
They would get meals served to them on trays, and everyone they saw asked what happened and signed the plaster on their arms and legs.
I sit motionless writing this article because if I move an inch, it hurts. Maybe I need special attention, just like my kids. Even though I did it to myself by not realizing my limitations, I have to admit, it feels nice sitting and reading and leaving errands and daily tasks to another day.
Maybe pain has a purpose.
Spring is natural between winter and summer, and few worthy accomplishments come without aches or discomfort. When I can again walk without groaning, I will enjoy the cleaner landscape, and smile because the pain will only be a tiny memory.
Does spring bring YOU pain? If so, unlike me, remember moderation.
Until the next time: Live while you live
Jennifer Goble, Ph.D., LPC, is the author of “My Clients…My Teachers,” and the blogger and writer of Rural Women Stories: www.ruralwomenstories.com
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