My father has a saying, “You quit farming, you die.” Like anything my father says, the really important things are said infrequently, and the trivial, not at all. He's the kind of weathered, rural wise man who smiles five minutes before he tells a joke, and we all know it will be a good one.

“You quit farming, you die.” I heard him say it every time one of his brothers died. The one who sold his farm and moved to town. The one who still walked the clothesline strung between the barn and the house long after his failed sight forced him to sell the cows and lease out the land.

Do we all need our version of farming to keep us alive? I'm not talking about the things most consider work, the exchange of eight hours of effort for a commensurate wage. I'm talking about the kind of thing that makes you forget that someone is paying you.

Where do you find your farm? Maybe you already have one, and you can't wait to quit working so you can get on with farming. If you don't, find one. Find one that makes you forget about yourself, and the aches you feel when you get up in the morning, and keeps you alive.

Have you thought about all the really worthy organizations that need all of the experience you have? Find one before you die.