As a kid, I never much liked Labor Day. I had no sense of its roots or broader meaning. In my young mind, the word “labor” was synonymous for work. I had yet to read Marx. I had yet to hear about the Haymarket Riots. May Day was a day in May.
What I did know was it was the last hurrah before another school year. Honestly, what was there to like about it?
Much older now, it’s another reminder, as if I need another, of the passage of time . . . one foot in the waning summer’s warmth, the other testing autumn’s cooler embrace.
The farmer/philosopher in me sees metaphor in the daily harvesting, clearing, and pruning back. I feel a similar call to take stock of the plans and ambitions I laid down this past spring (thinking again metaphorically, not just five months ago).
Feeling more philosophical still, I’m reminded of the central motto of the Benedictine way of life: “Ora et Labora,” which means “Prayer and Work.” The virtue and value of balancing introspection and practical labor.
Labor Day. Another invitation to take stock, be grateful, and carry on.