The Life For Me

A farm is a wonderful place to grow up, and a wonderful place to live. There is always something to do, and plenty of space to roam. Counting my daughters, five generations of my family have lived on the farm that I call home.

One of my dad’s favorite maxims is that if someone says that he doesn’t have anything to do, then you know that he doesn’t own an electric fence. Few things on earth require more maintenance or looking after than an electric fence.

Keeping an eye on the state of the fence is a time-consuming job that can work up a sweat, so I recently began killing two birds with one stone by walking the perimeter fence of the farm, both to clear it of obstructions and to burn a few extra calories.

I have one rule going into this personal challenge: I try to stay as close to the perimeter fence as possible.

That is not as easy as it sounds.

The perimeter fence stretches about two-and-a-half miles around the farm. It goes through deep woods, makes a steep descent into a rocky crevice, runs past the dens of temperamental coyotes and through the natural habitat of a host of poisonous spiders, easily-startled serpents, and Tennessee’s official state dinosaur, the snapping turtle.

In addition to these natural obstacles, at two separate places I have to crawl beneath two interior barbed-wire electric fences in order to keep as close to the perimeter as possible.

The rough terrain gives me a much more challenging workout than my normal walk around the driveway. In fact, my average heart rate during a fence walk is 20-30 beats per minute higher than it is during my normal driveway walk.

And, perhaps more importantly, my walks along the fence row have shown me some truths.

Grow Through the Scars

In one of the wooded areas I pass on my fence row journey stands a grove of unusual trees.

They are all curiously bent toward the northeast, like a bow pulled taut and ready to loose. And yet they continue to grow.

These trees are survivors of adversity.

On May 18, 1995, an F-4 tornado damaged my home to such an extent that it had to be demolished a month later. It also bent those particular trees into an eternal arch.

For twenty years I’ve found inspiration in those trees. One moment in time bent them in such a way that you can still see it today. The trees, however, did not give up and die. They sprouted new branches from their crooked trunks, and they continue to reach for the sun, despite their deformities.

Recovering lost health has been much the same for me. I did not become a diabetic by genetic chance. I was not born with it. I created a storm of bad health by choosing to eat poorly and exercise rarely.

Storms leave us with choices. Do you keel over and let the storm define you? Or do you make the choice to live and continue growing despite what the winds have done?

I decided that I didn’t want the storm to define me, and I certainly don’t want it to end me.

But it’s a choice that must be made anew every day, with every meal you eat and with every moment you exercise. You determine the direction of your journey with each step you take.

Michael Scott said it best: “Don’t ever, ever, ever give up.”

The crooked trees in the woods near the fence row certainly haven’t given up, and neither should you.