My first adult job

 

Cavet: All memories are subject to inaccuracy. 

I drove a van full of residents from a senior living apartment to a small apple orchard near Northfield MN  last week. I was delighted to see the old Ford tractor in the photo above on display there.

I grew up on a farm of about 320 acres. We raised feeder calves and hogs. The crop land was mostly corn and soybeans, but we had maybe 20 acres or so of alfalfa that was baled for hay. Hay baling was a group effort. About half a dozen farmers came together a couple times each summer to put up hay on each farm. The alfalfa had to be mowed, and then raked over to dry it out before it could be made into bales which would last the winter.

Once dry, my great-uncle Pete would bring his tractor and hay baler to the field where he would slowly drive over the rows of alfalfa. The machine would turn them into compact oblong bales held together with twine that weighed about 50-60 pounds.
  These would be stacked on a hay wagon by a couple workers (other farmers) which, when full, would be driven to the barn which had a hay mow on the upper level.

A complex series of ropes and pulleys would be used to raise the bales into the mow. Affixed by large forks, eight bales would be lifted up to the mow door, then into the mow itself where a rope would be pulled that released the forks. The bales would tumble down to the floor of the mow where the unluckiest workers (often high school kids) would stack them. Temps in the dusty haymow were usually well over 100 degrees with no breeze.

 

So where did the little Ford tractor come in? Someone had to slowly drive it away from and toward the barn to pull the rope that lifted the bales. I got that job when I was about ten years old. Shifting gears, lifting my foot off the clutch, and smoothly pulling that rope was my first grown-up job. I was now one of the men.

How did I know? I got to eat at the “men’s table” at dinner time. (On the farm we had noon dinners and evening suppers.) While the male members of the farm families whose hay was being baled worked on the hayracks and in the mows, the women prepared food: these amazing dinners feeding a half dozen or more hungry men consisting of several meat dishes, mounds of potatoes and vegetables, sliced white bread and butter, and of course, beautiful homemade pies. No more kids’ tables for this worker!

I am not sure why this memory has stayed with me all these years. Maybe because this was my first work experience that I enjoyed. I learned that work can actually make a person happy. And that lesson carried me all the way through my professional life. I had jobs I disliked, of course (hodcarrier, furniture deliverer, hospital worker, etc), but the bulk of my career was as an educator. I cannot think of a day I did not look forward to going to work.

Our society dwells too much on work solely in terms of its economic value. Yes, it’s good to make enough money to have a comfortable life, but work’s value in building a meaningful and joyful life should also be stressed. 

Thank you, small tractor. Nice seeing you.

Dear Abby

Dear Abby, dear Abby
My feet are too long
My hair's falling out and my rights are all wrong
My friends they all tell me that I've no friends at all
Won't you write me a letter, won't you give me a call
Signed bewildered

Bewildered, bewildered
You have no complaint
You are what your are and you ain't what you ain't
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood - John Prine

Dear Abby,

I am a life-long reader of advice columnists. Dear Ann Landers, Ask Eric, Miss Manners, and, of course, you - name the column, I will read it quite faithfully. My question for you is this: Is this a good way for me to be spending my time? Never do any of the problems discussed in these letters relate to my own life. Should I be doing something more constructive with the time I have left on earth?

Needing Advice in My Recliner.

Dear Needy,

My usual advice is to seek professional counseling. That’s probably not a bad idea for you (for any number of reasons), but in your case allow me to make some observations:

1. My columns are written less to inform and more to entertain. One has to chuckle at the letter writer who has been married for 50 years but is just now complaining about her husband’s table manners. 

2. Some read to experience schadenfreude, gaining a sense of pleasure in the troubles of others. Other than when thinking of a few politicians, schadenfreude isn’t my thing.

3. But I sense for you, it might be that reading the problems of others gives you a sense of gratitude. Aren’t you thankful that (until now), you have never felt the need to write to me. You have a comfortable life, good friends, and a warm family. You have a personality that accepts criticism and tolerates small annoyances in others. You are generally an optimist, who by reading the issues of others, is reminded of just how fortunate you are.

Keep reading, Needy. It never hurts to have a reminder of all that we should be thankful for. 

Yours,
Abby

The sadness of loss

For the past seven years I had been a volunteer driver for the local non-profit Help At Your Door, giving limited income folks rides, mainly to doctor appointments. But not anymore. 

HAYD has decided to stop offering ride services to its clients. No reason has been communicated to its volunteers. Bang. The door just closed.

I wrote an editorial piece for the Minnesota Star Tribune that was actually published called “How to become a better volunteer” a few years ago. One of the points I made was that volunteering benefits the volunteer as much or more than the people they are helping. Social interaction, sense of purpose, alleviation of bad karma - all good, especially for we retirees. Having been a rather active person all my professional life - day job, writing, consulting, speaking, travel, spoiling grandsons, etc. - staring at a blank calendar is traumatic. 

It has really struck me hard just how much I will miss some of the people I have been driving over the years. Most were very sweet and very grateful. Some were nut jobs. Some were a pain in the butt. But now, for the rest of my life, I will wonder what happened to the Georges, Noras, Natalies, Roberts, Kurts, and Wils.

When it comes to people going in or out of my life, I try to latch hard onto the old saying "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” But I find that easier said than done. I lose “things” on a regular basis - books, clothes, tools, documents - but nothing compares to losing a person.

But I am moving on. I have applied to be a volunteer driver for the American Cancer Society. I still drive the van for a senior living center a few times a month. Rotary gives me many chances to help out with things. Life goes on. I will survive.

But I will miss you George, Nora, Natalie, Robert, Kurt, and Wil. You genuinely helped this volunteer.