There's Something Therapeutic About Digging a Hole

After my first week here, I felt like a complete slacker. The workdays were too short, the work was too easy and there were too many breaks. I came out here to live the farm life and I expected long days and backbreaking labor to be part of that. Instead, I’m getting a disappointingly laid-back vacation with lots of free entertainment. I’m trying to build character, damnit!

Keep in mind that I come from a long line of German Lutherans (100%... both sides of the fam) and we’re ingrained with a strong protestant work ethic. You’re not happy? Just work harder. You are happy? Great, work harder. We don’t talk about our problems, we work until they go away.

I really tried to tell myself to just enjoy this place for what it was for the few weeks I’ll be here, but I couldn’t get past the feeling that I was wasting time when I could be somewhere else doing something more productive. Most of the work we did my first week involved cutting and gluing PVC pipes in a shaded wooden shack with a radio blasting, and I swear that the other volunteers managed to stretch out one day’s worth of work over most of the week. We had to work together and it almost drove me crazy to wait impatiently for the next cut while they found every excuse to slack off. Make a cut, get a drink, eat some food, talk about movies, chase a lizard, complain about the heat, have a pipe-throwing contest, make another cut, etc.

That was week one. Week two, everything changed.

I have a feeling Danny noticed the other volunteers weren’t doing much other than playing video games, eating his food and drinking all his beer. Whatever the reason, he surprised us all Monday morning by handing everyone a shovel and assigning us to dig holes to uncover irrigation pipes. When Danny explained the task, I could feel the awkward silence as the others realized what we were expected to do.

I got to work solo, and I can’t remember the last time I dug such a big hole. Maybe I never did. The ground was hard and it was tough work. The heat was in the high 90’s and bugs were biting. I’m not a sweaty guy—I frequently ran a four mile loop in Oregon under a hot sun with nothing more than a misty brow—but my shirt got properly soaked from that digging. My arms and legs were sore and my back felt like it was about to snap, and that was only by lunchtime. I had to keep digging another hour before I found the pipe, and then dig the rest of the day to make enough space to tap into it. Not only that, but our workday went on quite a bit longer before Danny told us to come in. Then we had to do the same thing the next day. It reminded me of that movie about holes where all the kids dig holes all day and there were holes everywhere and they couldn’t go to bed until they were done digging their holes. What was that called?

After the second day, I woke up in a lot of pain. My arms and legs felt like noodles and it hurt to put on my shoes. My stiff muscles resisted every time I moved, even if I turned my neck. It was a good kind of hurt, and it felt great! For the first time since I arrived here, I felt like I put in a good day’s worth of work and could see the fruits of my labor in the big cavity in the ground. I was so proud of my hole. You can bet I was ecstatic when I finally found that pipe.

If you’ve never spent a whole afternoon digging a hole, then I strongly recommend it. You’re stuck there alone with your thoughts—no distractions—and you have some physical exertion to help purge anything unpleasant out of your mind. You also start seeing the faces of people you hate in the hard ground and get a lot of satisfaction ripping them apart with a shovel (that’s also a great way to get a burst of energy when you start feeling tired). In the end, you feel very centered and clear-headed.

We spent the rest of the week digging more ditches, then went on to pull weeds out of the grape fields. That was also tough, but even more rewarding since I was finally getting my hands in the dirt. I really started enjoying this place this week, although my fellow volunteers bring me down a bit. They now complain constantly about how rough life here has suddenly become… and they still find ways to slack off most of the day. Sorry to brag, but my hole was way more impressive than the one the two Brits dug together.

Dad always told me I’d end up digging ditches if I got a degree in film and philosophy. Guess he was right, but I’m sure he never imagined how much I'd enjoy it.

“The pile is the enemy of the hole.”
–Bart Simpson