Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Child’s right to work itch!

Why this come up missing is beyond me. Written last night and feeling no better than I was the moment might have gotten away from me. Regardless here's last night's journal contribution.


At age 11yr. I was cutting my teeth on a McCormick Deereing’s 1020 fully equipped with my physical armstrong power steering, plowing and disking, working the lands for seeding. Age 12 I was cultivating row crops and vineyards. I was also driving same tractor and Dad's pickup truck on the same roadways. It took the local city police Chief and the county Sheriff until I was 14yr to make me a legally licensed driver.

Just this last summer I spied a loco dairy farmer's 12yr old son pulling two hay rakes in use behind an 65>70 HP class IH tractor, and doing a good job of it at that.

I wasn't the only kid driving farming vehicles. So it was the same upon at least two or three family farms per square mile all around my folks place.

I don't know what our country is coming to? My mom had me into feeding chickens and gathering their eggs before I was 5yr. That was a dirty lowdown dirty trick putting me to work initiating the beginnings my enjoying it (work). That was foul play if anything ever was. I was taught I was having a good time doing farm chores, making hay, planting and cultivating, and harvesting corn into shocks.

I was tricked in such a fashion that by todays child protection laws I was most likely guilty of teach my children how to work, without any explanation what I was learning them.

My farming acquaintances and myself, never found ourselves gathered up in troubles, only our city cousins managed to get themselves into. At least being a hick kid I never had to tell a judge from where I had borrowed a car and the gasoline to drive it around until a tree or ravine had jumped out in front of me.

You know whenever I didn't have a paying job, I had so much to do keeping me busy I kept our household just a humming along. I had even built a car one winter and a pickup truck another.

My mom and dad showing me the use of tools were skills and trades I'd never have learned in a classroom.

Guberment do gooders are protecting this country right out of future progresses.

I pass the box along.
Ohhh, what a beautiful day. I’ll see how much of it will go my way?
One fine day’s coming in so far, Frieda says we got to have two or three good day’s in a row to predict how March will be going out.

I had-a make me some coffee, sip some, I got to be at it at day lite. Tended to ladies needs rite out of the sack the need be. Gotta take her Mostess to her physical therapy, pickup a couple more quad parts,. On getting back have got to bring Ford backhoe home. Handy's septic tank's backed up, I must find it, dig up lid for pumping out.
Other wise its theoretically like the rest of my time is my own.

Seems as if when I try to get out of my own ____, some neighbor invites me to get into his? Anybody nose Witch way's the wind sposed to blow?
On the road for Frieda’s PT, I also made for the Bank, an exchange for different quad parts, seamstress for old tux repairs before we comes bake home. Hmmm, each time I drop Frieda off I’ve been telling her I’m going to check’s out the Clio community girls. Almost never happens. The closest I come to this is asking the help of some sweet young thing in VG’s super market to help me find something I can‘t find on my own. Now seeing as how I’m spending so much time almost every other day in VG’s those girls just might get wise to my ploy as I should be coming more familiar. That’s with the store merchandize that is!
The seamstress not in, I visited the notions or fabric shop across the street an purchased a bottle sewing machine oil. Back home meals on wheels had been here. I stacked two meals in the microwave and we ate. The ilk come with the meals, Frieda’s was alright, mine tasted funny. She insisted it was my dirty glass. In my mind that was BS. When I tilted the glass it had curds hanging on the sides. I poured it out. Rinsed my glass and refilled with what I knew was good. Frieda insisted I check milk carton’s expiration date. I did. It had a good if used before such and such a date what was more than a week old. Glass I had only used a couple three hours before, dirt my arse.
Rocking and rolling Handy and I went for shop pick and shovel first. Then on to Tom’s where Ford was parked. Back at Handy’s house he had marked the septic tank top with a pallet. Three feet down I had snagged the lid bringing it up. Machine digging was all done. Handy had me move down grade from the house to open a ruptured field drain to relieve back pressure on septic tank. Ford set, one easy scope a hydraulic line blows. The second dig’s finished. Ford taken home, hose removed boom covered, time for chores. Chores done making me happy as Hell.
Sick, I don’t know if I want to upchuck or save it for later. Still want to carry in some more firewood. I made some headway quitting maybe a gay’s fuel short. Maybe some Mylanta? Maybe supper? Maybe a couple soda crackers and half glass soda. Then head out for Mike’s for quad-bike parts preparations.
Evening up date. I never made it out of the house. I sat tight almost up to the moment for bed time. I held down the soda and crackers. When thinking it safe I reheated some last night’s home made chicken noodle soup. Continued sitting it laid well in my stomach. Next think, I’ll have to be up early. While I had only carried in so much wood, I hadn’t even started packaging the trash all the way out a-side the road.
Perhaps on the lighter side….
Rushing out of the house this morning, as usual, I neglected to change my hat. The ultra dirty Gilligan work hat remaining perched on my pointed head I shamefully neglected to trade it off for a cleaner more presentable going to town hat. A question following my somewhat shabby appearance I asked Frieda If I could die this hat so’s it wouldn’t so easily appear as dirty as it is? She thought for a moment or two and suggested I wash and die it with some heated up beet juice laced with vinegar to set the tint before I blocked it to dry.
Grabbing me-self a handy bucket I’m headed for bed to sleep this misery off. Be forewarned if I should survive the night, I’ll be back tomorrow evening. BGKC.

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