Remembering What Men Were

I wound up doing just a little work, yesterday.  I found out, today, that what I thought was work wasn't even a warmup.  My Father's 70 year old neighbor gave me a master class in running a chainsaw. My hands were on my hips before he even took a deep breath.  I'd forgotten what real work was.

Not so much forgotten, as avoided.  I remember my Daddy coming home, completely exhausted, many times from work.  I remember going to work with him and coming home near death.  At this point in life, I've been blessed enough to get out of shape.  At least, not in good enough shape to keep up with a 70 year old who's never avoided hard work.

Like my Dad, his neighbor worked for himself his whole life.  All that he has comes from the fruits of his own labor.  My Father was in better shape than I am now when he had his strokes at age 83.  Hard work kept those men, well... men.

Taking time off to get caught up on maintenance always reminds that I need to get out and do hard, manual work more often.  It also reminds me that what I think is hard is so very easy, by comparison.  Humanity has been forced to grind it out since the beginning.  We're getting too soft.

Daddy's neighbor, who's name I'll omit in respect of his anonymity, has always processed his own meat.  He's always raised his own food.  If he needed anything else, he'd work for it.  God have mercy on this country when those men are gone.