It’s July and its hot, but how hot is it? It depends on too many factors to cover them all in a missive as limited as this one is for space. One of the factors, it seems to me, is age. All I remember about my teen years was how hot the summer days were.

Most teens had chores to do and it seemed to me that they were all out in the hot sun. Most of my chores dealt with working the land.

Mowing, weeding, planting, hoeing and dealing with bugs. I abhorred any type of grass or weed management. It was hard physical work and was hard on the back, knees, hands and brain. It’s hard on the psyche when all you can think about is how refreshing it would be to be swimming or sitting on the water’s edge in the shade fishing when you are suffering in the heat.

There were no mechanical contrivances in those days and if there were it would have been cheaper and safer to let the kids do it. Do it—you did and if it was not done right you were directed to do it over. I remember one job that we were not able to do over. My brother Cliff and I were assigned five rows of corn to hoe each day until the field was done. My father had planted an unusually large field of sweet corn in hopes of raising some extra money. I being older and smarter than Cliff came up with a plan to save us some time. The corn was up enough so you could not see very far down the row so I suggested we hoe only down as far as you could see from each end. After all I did not believe it could make that much difference anyway. Well, it did, because when Dad started picking it the heights of the stalks were shaped like a huge bowl. The middle stalks were shorter and so was the number and size of the ears of corn. Dad let us know he wasn’t pleased but didn’t punish us which made me feel all the worse for deceiving him and finding out I was not so smart after all.

Times were tough but it was all worth it. Think of the pleasure derived from telling the kids today how much tougher you had it than they do.

I gradually worked my way up in the big time labor movement. The only difference from preteen to teen was you were paid real money. Based on output you were paid two cents a pound picking string beans, five cents a bushel for picking apples and topping onions. A fast worker could knock down five dollars a day. It bought a lot of fishing tackle, shotgun shells and school clothes for this cat. You must remember my teen years began in the forties and WWII was in full swing. Labor was scarce and as soon as you were old enough at fourteen to get working papers the job market was open for everyone.

As I grew a little older I moved up into the skilled labor bracket. I got a job in the Bonnie Brae Canning Factory. It was located next to a railroad and it canned string beans and sweet corn. I worked in the warehouse where the cans were packed in cardboard cases ready for shipment. Five ladies, most of whom had husbands in the service, packed the cases and I piled every one of those cases. If memory serves me right I was paid forty-five cents an hour. Because it was considered an essential industry it was straight time, in other words, no overtime. We worked twenty-three hours in one stretch when the crop had to be harvested. Even ordinary work days were 10 to 12 hours. The plant was five miles from my home and I rode my bicycle back and forth to work.

After the canning factory closed in the fall, when the growing season was over, and I was back in high school, I worked harvesting corn and threshing wheat and oats. In my senior year of high school I missed half of my school days working at farm work. I made it through with a regent’s diploma but it made my further education much harder to complete.

My last job after high school and before enlisting in the army was working on the railroad. It made the canning factory job seem like a piece of cake. We only worked eight hours a day but that was about all you could take. Imagine, if you will, working on an elevated plain all day long in the blistering heat without even a bit of shade to eat your lunch in. When you looked down the tracks off in the distance the heat waves shimmered much as it does off the desert sands. I weighed 142 pounds and had to help maneuver 18 foot railroad rails and 400 pound ties in place. We had plenty of men but no mechanized machinery to help with the work. The crew consisted of older men and boys either too old or too young for military service.

I learned a great deal about human nature and the will of people to prevail under extreme duress. The older men in particular were an inspiration to us younger crew members. Most of them today would have been on social security or retirement of some kind but they were laboring away, as much for the nation, as for what little money they received.

Which brings me to my thought for the week, which is that we reap only what we sow. I believe this nation would be a whole lot better off if the politicians adhered to that logic instead of pandering for votes.