Ridin', Reinin' and Writin'

Have you ever thought about all the things your hands have done? Or how valuable they are? In the middle of a fall project, I did…

For the past week or so, I’ve been working on two new flower gardens for my yard. The work entails digging out sod and replacing it with topsoil and rotted manure (no shortage of that around here!), spading it and finally, working out the lumps with my hands. Most gardeners wear gloves but I do not. I like the feel of the cool, moist earth running between my fingers. As I crumpled the lumps, I stopped and looked at my hands – really looked!

“These hands have done so many things!” I thought. “How amazing that they still work?” I started thinking back…

I suppose when I was a baby I looked at my hands in wonder (most babies do…), then reached for toys or my mother’s hair, all part of learning to use my hands to do what I wished them to do. As I grew up, I learned to feed and dress myself and a hundred other necessary things. I picked up a pencil, then a pen, learned to write, to throw and catch a ball . . . with my hands. My hands produced music on the violin, guitar and piano. I prepared food; I learned to knit, crochet and embroider; I guided horses with my hands. In the winter my hands sometimes got so cold that my fingers turned white but the circulation returned when they warmed and they continued to work for me.

I married and had babies. Now those hands would serve one of the most important jobs of their life – to care for my children – changing diapers, feeding, washing. I grew a huge garden in those days too and my hands were almost never still with hoeing, harvesting, shelling, canning and freezing. Still my hands did not complain – they worked tirelessly all day every day.

I remember one time my hands gave me away. It was Halloween and a friend and I dressed up and went to the local bar. Of course everyone tried to guess who were. We did not speak and were completely covered, except for hands. One man looked at mine and said, “Working hands.” He knew it was me.

Working hands to be sure. One thumb has a huge bump from a “bucking-off’ (guess it was broken!) and two fingers are a little dented from an accident loading a horse. A thumb nail is growing out after connecting with a hammer and I have calluses on both palms, but these hands can still do the job! They’ve been bruised, torn and smashed and they’ve ached with chill-blains and injuries but they can still tighten their grip on the halter shank of an unruly weanling foal or caress the silky softness of a horse’s nose and the top of my puppy’s head. As a matter of fact, they can still do every job I ask of them. For that, I am thankful . . . and truly amazed...