I read the obituaries. Yes, yes, I know. I've heard all the arguments about it being weird, strange, etc., but let me tell you: I'm not alone in this.
I love learning about other people's lives and what better way to honor someone's life than to take the time to learn about the impact he or she had on the world around them?
This lead me to contemplating the fact that the phrase "a peaceful, quiet death" is often used.
After today's activities, I've decided that if my heart would've exploded on the spot (instead of just feeling like it had) my obituary would have read "A Not So Peaceful, Not So Quiet Death."
We hauled hundreds of pounds of wood today. It all started with me enthusiastically suggesting that we log out the beautiful old black ash that had fallen in our cedar bog sometime this summer. We've not been able to get close to it due to all the rainwater, but now that it's frozen it's the perfect time to log it out.
Three hours and several trips pulling a sled filled with huge woodcuts later, as I lay gasping in a snowbank (which is the perfect place to contemplate life btw), I realized that it would be a quite peaceful place to recline if it weren't for the sweat chilling my body, for the puppy desperately trying to revive me, and for that very loud pounding in my ears. Who knew raging blood pressure could be so loud? Maybe it's just the deep stillness of the boreal woods. Maybe my arteries aren't as clogged as I thought.
A Not So Peaceful, Not So Quiet Death. Hmmmm... Maybe it's not a bad way to go, doing what you love where you love it.