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The Day Stinging Nettle Lost The Fight
Finding Strength within suffering
It was the summer of 2011. The humidity had my hair dancing in all directions as I went about my own business in the backyard.
The alpacas had been fed. The horses’ stalls had been mucked. The ducks had been watered. The chicken eggs had been gathered with no casualties.
After completing my chores, I could spend my time how I wanted. Like most 12-and-a-half-year-olds living in the country, I chose to spend my free time outside.
Alpacas frolicked in the near distance. Horses chomped on hay in the field behind the barn. Ducks splashed in their makeshift pond. Chickens clucked and pecked at the ground wherever they pleased.
Other than the animals, I was on my own that day. I was enjoying the “me time”.
The neighbour kids were away on vacation. My little sister had a play date at a friend’s house. Dad was at work in town. Mom was busy preparing lunch and staying cool in the farmhouse kitchen.
I had decided to make a fort in the tall grass and weeds close to the alpaca pen. The goofy creatures watched me from behind their long lashes, as I used all my little muscles to cut away at the thick greenery with mom’s kitchen scissors. I’d stealthily stolen the scissors from the…