The Meaning of Life?

            They say that you can take the boy out of the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the boy.  So, if you’re like me, in the Spring Time your mind and body turns to the out-of-doors. 

            Many of us reared in the forties and fifties who spent a good portion of our youth on ranches and farms, in our adult years, if life has permitted, have become “gentleman” farmers with small spreads of 10 to 20 acres. 

            There is much to do on a farm: irrigation ditches to be cleaned, branches pruned by snow and wind gathered and burned, earth to be plowed and harrowed, sowing seeds and planting tomato plants – all of which usurps intellectual pursuits like this blog.  (I grow the finest heirloom tomatoes in Utah.)

            Here in Bluffdale, Spring has been particularly wet and windy while in Texas they are burning up and along the flood plains of the Mississippi the water is waist deep.  In Washington State where under ordinary years, by now they are picking peas and strawberries, I’m told it has been so wet they haven’t been able to plant.

            According to the weatherman, and from the looks of the black and gray Cumulus glutted sky, they are going to be hanging around Utah for the next three days.  That means more rain (sorry Texas) and should give me time to work on an essay inspired by one of my favorite authors, Will Durrant, on “the meaning of life.”  I hope to have it completed by this weekend.