The winery Sandy and I are working at is expanding it's acreage under cultivation and planted 3,500 Marquette vines in a newly excavated and trellised plot. There are more trellises and vines to come. A well and warehouse are also planned for completion in the next few weeks.
Since there is no well and irrigation system the vines need to be watered by hand. A couple of days ago I, and three coworkers, were watering newly planted vines by hand. This consisted of following a truck, with a water tank in the bed, and spraying water on each planting for thirty to forty seconds.
We worked in hot, humid and still air. There wasn't a speck of shade anywhere. The water we were sucking down became the nectar of the gods as the day wore on. It was an afternoon of monotonous plodding and counting and plodding and talking of (as it turned out) not so inconsequential things with my coworkers. I felt like the sun was nailing me to the ground through my neck.
I was surprised to realize that I was curiously content despite all the discomfort. I was so surprised that I've thought about that contentment a lot. I wanted to know why it happened.
It occurred to me that when I approach a new task with no ego it's easier to find purpose and a sense of joy. I don't mean a disregard for how the task is done when I type "no ego" but a disregard for what I'm doing as a definition of who I am.
What I mean is that, while we were plodding and watering we were talking. We were relating to one another. We were finding common (and uncommon) ground. We were learning new things about each other. In short, we were being the social animals we, at our most basic level, really are. That's who I am. I think that's how most people, if they give themselves the chance, are.
I think Doug Adams, of all people, summed up the basic ethos of vagabondage in 'The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul':
"A life that is burdened with expectations is a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and disappointment. Learn to be one with the joy of the moment."