Wrangler Dani

I got my job at the barn back last week, and I could not be more tickled about it. I’ve missed my teammates, and the dignity of sweat, putting my heart, mind and body on the line for something larger than myself. But work can be misused, can’t it – we too often ignore its graces through lazy, aimless grifting; or labor joylessly and create for ourselves a ponderous chain of obligations rather than the new, beautiful horizons we should intend.

A few weeks ago I rewatched The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I saw something I’ve never noticed, although I have loved the story for a couple of decades. The bad guys and good guys aren’t doing anything different, at least in theory. They are both building things, making the world new. If work is an end in itself, the dogged pursuit of an aim should be enough to make the goal virtuous, it seems to me. But while both sides work diligently and with eye-popping vigor, single-minded in their aims; we recoil at the world of Mordor, the authoritarian, grim, dystopian view of work which the forces of evil advance. There’s no glory in it, no joy or laughter, no grace or friendship. It’s toil, in the worst sense, work that is done with a grimace and a growl, for domination’s sake.

So what makes work healthful and meaningful, beauty-bringing and not life-sucking?

Goals matter, of course, but so does the work itself. My youth was full of work. My family taught me how to lean into work, how to carry more than you think you can, how your body will answer your mind and come to work too, even when you feel too small, too weak, too young. In my 20s, as a wrangler, Ami’s and my workload was the stuff of legend – “those girls WORKED” – we hear whenever we go back, and we grin at each other in remembrance. One night, our boss Jerry drove me home from the horses (a half-mile at best but he wanted an excuse to chat and I was a willing listener to his stories). “You know,” he said, undoubtedly looking at my bony elbows and skinny knees, “you’re not very big, but you can do anything, because of the power of your mind.”

I often think about that odd little affirmation when I feel too tired, when the mountains in front of me seem too big or the game feels rigged. I also think about my first paying job, picking rocks out of a hayfield. In the bathroom of the farmer’s house where I drug my exhausted self to wash my skinny, scraped hands after a long day, there was a worn oak sign, “Be cheerful when you are weary”. I think the farmer knew something, a truth I’m still digging out, about hard work, weariness and good cheer.

Our minds make work meaningful, and our souls nudge us into it, urging us to offer ourselves unselfishly. Earlier this week my barn had a special socially-distanced trail ride for all of our volunteer captains, to honor and treat one of them, who is retiring. This extraordinary lady is in her 80’s, but she sweeps the aisles and hauls tack and carts a wheelbarrow of manure out back without a single sigh. We all have stories of her kind affirmations, the calm way she demonstrated consistent care to our riders and horses. She’s unassuming, quietly going about her tasks in pressed trousers, offering soft chuckles in the fracas of big personalities around her. Her steady presence will be missed, she is remarkable because of her faithfulness, her reliable kindness, the way she taught us about work by demonstrating secure servanthood.

I guess work can’t be an end in itself, or we’re no better than orcs, toiling away at a masterplan of world-domination. It has to lead to something – just as I ride horses to make them better, I make dinner because it offers nourishment and care to those I love, I write with hope that my words lead somewhere beautiful. I must work with hope, I have to press forward, believing that my sweat and ideas matter, that the gifts I’ve been entrusted with are meaningful, that work is not mere drudgery but is making the world a better place.