I’ve been mucking barn stalls for the last couple of days.
An hour or two a day for two or three days about gets it done.
Sheep, goats, and chickens we have now.
Not as waste-producing as cows or horses.
I was about to say more manageable, too,
but that ain’t true.
I generally don’t mind the work and
find it uniquely satisfying. I love the physicality of it.
The pitch-forking into the barrow, wheeling it to the compost heap.
The absolute earthiness of it, the sharp freshness of the smell.
The very essence of life.
The clean energy it offers our garden and pasture.
The humbling it brings to my muscles and mind.
I take a break and think about fracking.
Industrial mucking, of a sort.
You know, the gouging of the earth.
The use of millions of gallons of water.
Untold toxic chemicals pumped into the ground.
The forever question of what to do with the waste.
Documented dangers and hazards.
Like poisoning peoples’ water supplies.
Releasing carcinogens into the air.
Noise and light and traffic where once there was none.
And for what? Money, of course. But jobs, they also say, as if to appease.
Oh, and energy, power - we’ve got to have that.
These politicians and technocrats do whatever they want.
Now saying they can come onto your land and
build roads and drill, without asking.
Can just show up at your front door and do it.
They ain’t looking out for you and me.
Makes me so mad I could spit.
And go back to my mucking.
It's far cleaner work.