So That\'s What Morning Is Like!

Readers of last week’s blog will be happy to know that only three chicks wound up dying. Resilient little animals, aren’t they?

Farmers seem to have an unusual fondness for dropping casual remarks that freeze the would-be apprentice from the tip of his scalp to the soles of his new steel-toe boots. For instance, after explaining the esoteric function of some terrifying hulk of machinery, a farmer might add, “I knew a guy once, tried to clean it while it was still on. Yep. Took his arm right off. Sold it to a magician.”

Little comments like these don’t seem calculated to inspire. However, with one particular remark, I’m undergoing a paradigm shift. I am moving from the Outside Uncomprehending Heathen to the Inner Circle of Illumanti. I refer to the endless variations on the phrase, “Man, I slept in this morning. Didn’t get up until five.”

Until recently, that one always gave me a turn. It shouldn’t have, because I have at various low points in my career gotten up at five to get in a few hours of writing before eight hours of work and more writing in the evening. (Math whizzes will note that that comes out to an awful lot of time with a computer.) Nonetheless, I had it in my head that, among the other perils of life on the farm, sleep deprivation loomed large.

As it turns out, ah, I think I was right. The farmers here really do get up that early and they do it all the time, not just every month or so. Perhaps the schedule is less rigorous in winter, but I’m not even sure of that. They might do it all year.

Horrible! Drudgery! If only they could be like the enlightened folk who get good jobs in the city. Sure, there’s the commute, but if you get up at five, you can beat the traffic…

As I said, I have transcended this common interpretation of the facts. By an experiment considered risky in the extreme, I have undergone the process personally. I have risen at five.

I am now tired.

But I’m also amazed at the existence of something I never imagined. Morning. Of course I’ve been up early before. But such adventures have generally been spent either in a humdrum cave like my home office or an exotic place like a beach.

Apparently, you don’t have to be a hundred miles from your home for a morning to be lovely. The walk down to work, for instance. I’ve seen it fifty or sixty times so far. I thought I was used to it. But in the morning, I discovered, in the cool, gray light, the trees are secretive and glad. Have you ever felt closer to someone simply because you saw her before breakfast? Walk outside, and the whole world is a shy lady in the dawn. You were not expected, but you are welcome.

And work that might be trying in the heat is instead a pleasure. So everything works out for the siesta. If work starts at six, who cares if you sleep through the afternoon?

What an excellent idea.