Thursday, April 2, 2009
The MoneyWalker is in retreat, or should that be in advance. Fifty miles above New Orleans is Folsom, LA and the retreat “farm” of the MoneyWalkers. No scales, no streets, no money hotspots, just ten acres of wooded walking trails, gardens, ponds, a barn, and the creole cottage, all requiring attention and maintenance. We make room for this heaven on earth about two days out of ten.
Maintaining fitness remains a priority. My regiment is more anaerobic (think weight lifting) than aerobic (think brisk walking.) Yesterday I reworked three garden beds. Tasks involved hoeing and pulling weeds, lifting a heavy trailer onto the tractor tow bar, lifting more than two hundred bricks onto the trailer, clearing grass from around three large flower beds, placing the bricks into borders, etc. etc. etc.
Sometimes my natural workout involves clearing hiking trails. Tools include a chainsaw, an axe, loppers, a hand saw, and human muscle. As small trees and undergrowth are cut, the prunings must be hand hauled to a central station for bundling so as to be dragged to the burn pile. The physical energy required is both anaerobic and aerobic. Each hour spent of hard cutting, clearing, and hauling burns approximately 400-500 calories. All three basic exercise objectives are covered including stretching, strength building, and cardiovascular fitness.
In this age, there is one sure truth that I know—to maintain our hereditary legacy, we must superimpose work into our lifestyle. We are in a unique age. A majority of our grandparents, men and women, were required to do hard physical labor six or seven days a week, eight to twelve hours a day. Our current body systems evolved to handle the load. Now what? Nearly all of us have replaced physical labor with mental labor.
In later blogs, the consequences of reduced physical work will be explored and what we can do about it. But for today, the birds are calling. I have three downed pine trees from Katrina that must be cut into sections, muscled into position for hauling, and tractored to the burn pile. I feel like a natural man. “What is that?” Ms. MoneyWalker reminded me to take my Gatorade.