“Keep your eyes clean and your ears quiet and your mind serene. Breathe God’s air. Work, if you can, under His sky.” – Thomas Merton

It was a busy weekend at the farm. The to-do list was filled with projects and with the opening weekend of gun season for white-tailed deer in our part of the state just over a month away, we had a lot to accomplish in a short time.

I was also scheduled to have hand surgery on Monday which meant I would be down to the use of one hand for a few weeks. That fact upped the ante a bit on getting everything done, however, unlike facing a looming deadline at work, I felt no pressure.

As I’ve mentioned before, working in the outdoors has always felt therapeutic to me. Merton’s words are very apropos as working “under His sky” always stirs something inside of me. Nature truly is medicine.

No doubt that’s why I usually find myself sitting in a chair outside watching the sunset at the end of a long day, and why outdoor projects tend to be my favorite. For me, even work is better outside.

Many of my favorite memories — even memories of work — are rooted in the outdoors. As a teenager, I gravitated toward jobs that took place outside, be that hauling hay or working construction. My first forays into journalism and writing even came while outdoors covering the livestock shows at the Union County Fair for the New Albany Gazette.

I wasn’t made to be at a desk all day. The thought of it now makes me a little claustrophobic. Clearly, that’s why I ended up in sales for my day job. I have a lot of windshield time each day while traveling, I’m outside for a good portion of the day, and every day is different.

I’ve even managed, quite often, to incorporate being outdoors into the actual work of writing this column. Case in point, I’m sitting in my brother and sister-in-law’s beautiful backyard now as I recoup from surgery and peck out this piece with one good hand and one bandaged mitt.

Many would argue that writing isn’t really work at all, and, although it’s only a side gig for me at this point, I have to say that in some regards I agree.

Writer Larry McMurtry once opined that, “what always bothered me most about writing was that it was sedentary. I was born to working-class people. Getting up and then sitting down to peck at a strange machine didn’t seem like work compared to what my father did.”

Like McMurtry, I, too, come from working-class upbringings, and I sometimes still find it hard to believe when I open the mailbox to find a check for something that I have written.

The reality for me is that the writing process has yet to feel like work — especially compared to the work that my parents did. It has, however, without a doubt been some of the most rewarding work that I’ve ever done.

To take it one step further, I’m also awed by the fact that I get to fly fish a Smoky Mountain creek or, as was the case this week, patch up an old hunting blind on the farm and write about it on the pages of my local newspaper, humbled and awed.

For me, the simple fact that inspiration can come from the dichotomy of two such diverse settings is very telling when it comes to the power of the natural world. You don’t need to travel across the globe to experience that power. You need only step out of your back door.

I was reminded of this fact recently while reading Mountain Gazette magazine. Over the past couple of years, I’ve become a big fan of the Gazette. The writing is exceptional, and I always find myself nodding along in agreement with the editor’s letter.

In Edition 202, Owner/Editor Mike Rogge writes that “I’ve never taken any sense of superiority from living in the mountains over anywhere else. Going outdoors is getting outside. Simple as that.” Just as simple as stepping out of your back door.

Rogge goes on to say that “from a distance, mountains can be purple, green, orange, red, black, white, and gray. Up close, there is so much more to see.”

Until next time, here’s to getting outside, “up close,” and seeing all that there is to see, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.