Work, some call it a dirty four-letter word. I do. But only when sat behind a computer screen with a ringing phone.
This week, in Iceland, I’ve been taking part in physical labour, or work. This work, though, is a thing of beauty.
We are based in a forestry hut, surrounded by woodlands and streams. In the distance we can see snowy mountains.
Leaving each morning we travel to an unpronounceable waterfall and repair footpaths, build drainage and re-turf the land.
We shovel dirt, carry bits of wood and more dirt, plant grasses and create cordons. We end at 5ish, exhausted and filthy.
This work is something we love. The noise of roaring water is better than chatter from clients and the sight of the mountains sure beats a computer screen. We wear our dusty coating like a badge of honour with more pride than suits and ties.