Jobs

Unless you were born a trust fund baby, it is likely that you have climbed upon the hamster wheel of currency acquisition and experienced a number of employment opportunities throughout your life. I certainly was not born with a wad of cash in my back pocket so the need for good old-fashioned work has always been a part of my existence.  Not surprisingly, my first jobs were agrarian related. Many chores were just part of belonging to a farm family and monetary compensation was not to be expected. A few jobs had a carrot of cash dangling at the end of them, heavy on the work, light on the cash.

One job that always struck terror within my soul was the call to “chase pigs.” For whatever reason there were times when the swine needed to be moved from point A to point B. One does not herd pigs, they are chased. However docile a pig might seem, they carry an evil gene that can turn on you in a moment’s notice. My ineptness as a pig chaser was soon evident as I ran for the nearest point of sanctuary at the slightest provocation from my piggy friends. At some point, my father quit asking for my “help” and thought it best that I stay in the house and bake cookies instead.

A job that came with a bit of compensation was tying bales. This task required a bit of on-the-job training and was not for the faint of heart. The farm’s baling equipment left a loose end of twine on each bale. Our task was to loop the loose end into a knot with the adjacent line of twine, thus securing the bale for later retrieval. My siblings and I would gather at one edge of the field in the early morning hours in an attempt to escape the scorching heat of the day. Blisters from pulling on the twine were somewhat abated by wearing stuffy gloves. Unprotected ankles were scraped up as we trudged our way through the field of stubble. My fair skin was a canvas for sunburn and needless to say, I was not a big fan of this duty. The pennies we received per bale helped lessen the sting somewhat and I learned about perseverance and calamine lotion.

One task I never complained about was the opportunity to rock and read to my younger siblings. There always seemed to be a little munchkin whose attention needed to be diverted for awhile. I loved reading books and was only too happy to do so for as long as it took for a wee one to nod off or forget about the next tantrum. One favorite book was Walter, the Lazy Mouse. It was about a mouse who wanted to play rather than do his share of household tasks. One day he arrived back home, only to find an empty nest because his little mousie family had moved away while he was out frolicking about. I don’t remember how it ended but I do remember that Walter was a somber reminder to stay industrious and mind your mother.  Another beloved book (and perhaps less traumatizing) was Pockets. Each page revealed another surprise that could be found in the hidden recesses of a variety of pockets. The climax happened on the final page when Daddy’s pocket revealed “candy for all of us!”

Life on the farm was a great way to grow up but I clearly did not have the fortitude and constitution to follow that career path. Suffice it to say, I am better suited for rocking and reading books. Not much pay for such things, but both are an option for alleviating the next tantrum.