The first Labor Day was celebrated by some on September 5, 1882, when Knights of Labor leader Peter J. McGuire requested that the first Monday in September be a day of rest for American workers. A parade in New York City’s Union Square honored the working people of America. Thousands took the day off to be in the parade, to picnic, listen to speeches and set off fireworks. The first Monday in September is now celebrated each year in America to honor workers. For many, the day also marks the end of the summer holiday season and a returning to school for America’s students.

I like the sounds of this list in the history of Labor Day, “…to be in the parade, to picnic, listen to speeches and set off fireworks.”

We write to be in the parade of life, to picnic with others who dig deep into life and the meaning of experience, to listen to ourselves and to others. And doesn’t the end result of our labor set off fireworks, the feeling of being truly alive? Writing is a labor of love in which we get to celebrate ourselves as the poet Walt Whitman did–not as perfect beings in any sense, but as observant, feeling, living beings in awe of the natural world that is us and surrounds us. In the last line of his poem “Miracles,” Whitman wrote, “To me, every hour of the day or night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.”

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Writing is a labor we return to again and again, never feeling that a particular finished piece is an ending to our craft, but rather prelude to other writing projects. Though the labor is hard, we invent more opportunities in our lives to perform that labor.

You’ve probably heard the famous quote ascribed now to many writers: “I hate writing. I love having written.” We must love having the opportunity again and again to “have written.”

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As a vegetable gardener, although I don’t hate the process of gardening and have grown to love many aspects of the work, I do, of course, enjoy the results of the work more than its demands. At this harvest time of year, I appreciate the plot I labored over and will again when I prepare the beds for winter. For the moment, though, I enjoy a bountiful “having.” I am ever pleased to “have gardened” as I bring in and share tomatoes and basil, broccoli and yellow crooked neck squash, red and white onions, garlic, peas, beans, and berries for the jam my neighbor makes.

This labor day, think of the bounty of your writing and the way your writing has sustained not only you but those who have read and appreciated your words. Know that you will dive back into the work, perhaps even as you celebrate this Labor Day holiday.

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To help you do that, here are two writing ideas inspired by Labor Day thoughts and memories:

1. Write about the years before you were an adult worker.
   What did you associate with Labor Day?
   Describe the place, the people, the events and ideas of a typical Labor Day from your childhood.
   Boating? Water skiing? Barbeques?
   Putting away summer clothes and white shoes?
   Closing a beloved beach house?
   Sorting out new notebooks and pens and pencils for school?
   Loving a new outfit or shoes purchased to wear the first day of school?
   Who was with you?
   What were the things you did and talked about?
   Did you think about work and workers or was that forgotten amidst holiday fun or start                of school trepidation, or saying goodbye to summer?
2. Invent a ritual to celebrate yourself as a worker.
   Describe this ritual and how you can observe it.
   What foods, symbolic materials and activities will you use in your ritual?
   How will you invite people to join you in this ritual?
   How does the ritual honor your role as a worker today?

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Two quotes to remember this Labor Day on writing as a labor of love:

Writing is a labor of love and also an act of defiance, a way to light a candle in a gale wind.

— Alice Childress

When you put a tremendous amount of love into your work, as in any relationship, you can’t know – you can only hope – that what you’re offering will in some way be received. You shape your love to artistic demands, to the rigors of your genre.
But still, it’s a labor of love, and it’s the nature of love that you must give it freely.

—Anne Michaels

May your holiday be filled with celebration, love, and hopefully soon a lot of writing!