The Work of the Morning
I woke on Sunday in the darkness to a call from the retreat leader that a guest had been locked out of their room. I took it as an invitation to begin the day early. Before the sun had risen, I was already outside repairing a sprinkler that had come loose and was spraying into one of the cactus beds.
Not long after, the two members of our grounds team arrived. We began the morning stitching loose trim along the edge of the shade sail on the top perch overlooking the valley. The air was still cool and the sun was rising behind me as I stood on the ladder sewing the fabric back into place, one of the guys holding it steady below.
Afterward we moved to the upper part of the property near the A-frame cabins and composting toilets to begin weeding. Some weeds came easily while others resisted, but little by little we cleared them away, raking the piles together and carrying them off in a brown bucket to discard along the woods.
Later we moved down the hillside to a row of cacti where small pups had begun clustering together. We dug them out carefully and loaded them into a black cart to be replanted next week as part of a new fire protection line.
With the retreat schedule quieter through the winter, the rhythms of the work have shifted slightly. The two members of the grounds team who help care for the land now come more often on weekends, fitting visits here between their other jobs.
The changing light of the season alters the rhythm of the day as well. Even though the mornings are still dark when we begin, I prefer starting work this way. The air stays cooler longer, and the early hours move at a steadier pace before the heat arrives.
By afternoon the dust of the workday has settled into the skin and muscles. Lately I’ve fallen into the habit of ending the day with a sauna, letting the heat loosen the body and wash away the grit of the morning’s work.
When everyone had gone and the retreat grounds had fallen quiet again, I stood for a moment along the hillside path. The land felt still and open in the late light. It didn’t feel like solitude so much as a quiet kind of company.
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