Shit. Hole.

(Or How the Wind of Perspective Shifts)

Clearing land: The original gym.

No need for weights when you stand in a four foot hole digging gravel and pulling out rocks.

And I love it.

Physical work that means something real.

Something everyone needs.

A place to go.

How deep is it now?

Are you finished yet?

When can we get in the hole?

Surround by hundred of acres of woods, on the side of a mountain that leads to 1,000's of acres of State
Park land, with glaciers above and an ocean below...
...and our children still manage to fight over the same rotting Hemlock stump near the planned outhouse, so amidst digging and cutting trees, I still need to referee-- and I find myself longing for the freedom to just dig our hole in the earth.

Sans children.

Just dig.

Just me and Nick making a home with our hands.

So I stay in the hole and swing the pick and pack the shovel with my dirt-filled fingernails, then lift it by the blade to throw it towards our third pile, this one far more gray than brown. The first foot of dirt released easily, organic matter teaming with life, perfect for the someday garden on the small hill below, where a trail will lead to a private shitter in the woods, one with four windows and a view of the ocean and the mountain range that rises straight from sea level, like the best kind of neon sign for wonder and awe.

Oh I see it.

And so I dig the gravel layer too, taking my turn in the hole, not nearly as proficient as Nick but willing to throw my body into it, sweating underneath this wide Alaskan sky, on this land I've loved since I first walked upon it 13 years ago, that we finally claim as ours with our picks and shovels, chainsaw and clippers, carving out a place to sit and go.

How deep is it now?

When is it our turn to dig?

Can I help?

But yes, Olive and Elias are ours and we are theirs, and so they emulate us, longing to dig too.

As they wait their turn in the hole, another old log becomes a sick crocodile and they pull apart the composted gold bark of the ancient Hemlock.

They turn our giant slash pile into their nest and make basement rooms and upstairs rocket trains.

With hundreds of Alders in their nest, 1,000's of sticks, from bush to tree size, they still manage to want the same one.

I decide its their turn to climb in the hole.

One at a time.

Youngest first.

You'll both get turns.

As Olive peers up at us, with her impish grin, from our newly dug shit-hole, Elias walks along the edge, his feet a safe distance away, but one of his canes slips in the pit, throwing his body to the ground and he falls, head first, face dragged against the rocky wall, to the bottom of the four-and-a-half foot hole.

I freeze.

Nick, back turned, misses the fall but responds to my gasp and leaps in after Elias. He hoists our 75-pound son out to me and I wrap my arms around him as we crumple to the ground. I look at his face, covered in dirt, temporarily blinded by broken down rocks, scraped but not bleeding.

(The blood would come on another day, on another fall, off another old log onto the broken branches of
another dead tree, small punctures an inch below his eye, while he and Olive played out of view.
Mom, Elias has blood on is face. )

I check his limbs and nothing appears broken. He lays the weight of his body against me and doesnt move.

A stillness that rarely seizes Elias. A quiet heavy energy I've only felt once before.

You're ok, I got you, I say, as much for me as for my firstborn son.

We breathe heart to heart for an eternity in a minute and I say: Well that was one way to get into the hole.

He laughs and I laugh and we begin the process of cleaning the dirt from his eyes, his nose, his ears.  He never cries.

You are so brave.

I love you so much.

I am so lucky you are my son.

And the winds of my heart change direction yet again.

Comments

[Kate]

So glad to checkin and find a new post! And so relieved he is okay. And love the pictures of your unfolding dream scape. Glad you got away for awhile but glad you're back too.

[Ginna]

I'm so happy for you guys that you're finding a new place to dig this hole that means home! Four of the most wonderful people, tough and tender and beautiful. I miss you guys and am so proud of you.

[Candice]

That split second or two, and the aftermath of What Could Have Happened (and being bodily reminded how fragile life is), is so terrifying isn't it? So glad he's okay; so totally understand the thousand and one thoughts behind that one gasp.

How fulfilling and exciting, and what backbreaking work, to be finally digging in to your dream! Good luck with the shit hole -- and all the parts that come after!

Candice

[Christy]

Good to be back, Kate, even briefly, before our next adventure. And yes, it is so satisfying to finally be making a dream a few steps closer to coming trues. YAY!

Miss and love you too Ginna, thanks as always for your love and support.

Candice, that moment, yes, brings everything into perspective, at least during teh aftermath before we get caught up in our heads again. And yes, thank god he fell well:)

[Valerie Demming]

A great memory both of them will have forever and tell stories about it many years down the road!