My new job is harder physical work than I've ever done in my life, including the time I owned a landscaping company and the work I did caring for three cows, hand milking. This has come as a surprise. Its also more difficult mentally, than expected. There are many levels of things happening at once, all of which are compounded (I've just realized) by the fact that my boss is a perfectionist who runs that dairy as if its a five alarm emergency. Because, to her, caring for the cows is that important. She reminds me of myself when my children were babies. Her heart is in exactly the right place, but her beliefs are a bit...exaggerated in expression. Yeah, we're a lot alike.

All of which is great for me, kind of like joining the Army might be. If the Army was armed with pacifistic lesbians, whose goal was to run the best dairy ever, and to make superb cheese. Everyone on that farm is smart and kind and dedicated. There isn't anyone who isn't working hard. And I'm the lowliest peon there. Which is humbling. Its getting me in much better shape. I see something new almost every day I work. I can feel my neurons reaching blindly and almost frantically as they whisper, "Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Wait, this is actual shit getting all over me. Shut up, dip shit! Pay attention!" I make mistakes every time they cut me loose.

Yesterday, at 5:30 in the almost perfect darkness of a drizzly dawn, standing in slick shit on a slanting slab of cement, it was my job to herd 34 cows as they moved toward me. I was armed with a flashlight (which scares cows) and a herding stick (a piece of flexible fiberglass with a wrapped handle.) 30 of the cows had to move to my left, to enter the milking parlor. 4 of them had to move to my right, to stand in a holding pen and get milked last. Those lefty-cows were wearing plastic necklaces. I had to see the necklace, separate those cows, and get them in the right pen without falling down or missing one or causing one of them to panic and fall. I did a good job. Until I realized I forgot to properly set the gates between the cows and the milking stanchions. So they all had to come out and get resorted. First of two important mistakes I made that day. It was a good day.

I'm home this morning and went for a walk before the kids woke up. Such a contrast to yesterday, I moved on sure footing for my own pleasure and exercise, in the sun. Actually, the sun isn't such a good thing for me and when I moved into sunny glare, I closed my eyes as I walked. Walking with closed eyes is a strange and lesser known talent of mine.

I lived on La Selva beach in California for a year in my twenties when I was studying midwifery. It was a strange lovely life-changing year. I spent a lot of time alone and often walked through my neighborhood, past a grove of eucalyptus trees, and down to the beach. On the wide empty beach I would walk for long stretches of time with my eyes closed. As a form of meditation. At first it was very difficult. I would get vertigo when I closed my eyes. I would veer off in wild wrong directions. I would feel panic and worry, of course. But after a while, I began to be able to walk with my eyes closed so long that I forgot my eyes were closed.

If I close my eyes now, when I walk, I drop right into that wonderful trusting centered happy feeling of moving my body across the earth without sight. There aren't many things I've trained for in my life. I haven't tried too hard to do much of anything, other than being a good parent and a worthy partner. For a time, I knew my midwifery facts cold. I had mad skills for birth, for awhile. What's remained is an ability to move blind. Why did that stick? Maybe to help me herd cows in the dark? Maybe because I've stumbled blindly along all my life?