July 11 2015
There is something about a farmhouse porch which beckons long rocks in a rocking chair with a favorite book and ice cold lemonade. The Peacock Prairie farmhouse has both a front and back porch.
The front porch looks out over the prairie towards the sunset.
The back porch looks out over the pond towards the sunrise.
Yesterday while visiting on the back porch with my Aunt, she asked a disturbing question, “This is such a lovely spot. Do you sit here often?”
“No,” I confessed, “only with company. I’m too busy to sit.” This immediately got me thinking about that which has occupied much of my time–
and more beans.
I saw her disappointed look.
Attempting to erase that look, I said, “But I’ve got 10 bags of beans in the freezer.”
“Beans?” was all she said.
Shortly thereafter, this quote, by A. H. Almaas, found it’s way to my beany brain:
The absence of purpose is the essence of play.
I looked at those words –‘absence of purpose’– like a puppy looks at calm.
I looked at my porch. . .
I looked at my rocker. . .
I looked at my beans. . .
heaping with purpose.
Ditching that heap, I went out and sat in the rocker. Bluebirds landed on the nearby feeder. The scent of freshly cut hay hung in the air. A fish jumped in the pond. A wood thrush sang in the nearby woods.
Like a child at play I thoroughly enjoyed those moments of aimless rocking, so much so, that ‘absence of purpose’ has been added to my daily agenda.