Although it was cool outside, I was sweating. Linda informed me this morning that I needed to make a choice: wire the garage or clean up the brush pile. I ducked and dodged as best as I could, but she was relentless, and I finally gave in. The brush pile it was. I was a bit worried that the ground wasn't yet hard enough to drive on, but it handled the truck and trailer quite well. Two years ago, we began to clear out some of the sumac and thornbriars in our back yard along the creek. We didn't have a trailer at the time, so I just piled it, thinking I could burn it when it dried out. As it turned out, sumac doesn't dry particularly well, and is so punky it doesn't burn. Last summer, we added to the pile. Dragging the larger pieces out of the pile and loading them onto the trailer was quite a job, hence the sweat.
We got one load delivered to the village compost pile, but have at least another load to go, not counting the brush we haven't yet tackled. It makes me appreciate those homesteaders who moved into this area two hundred years ago to clear the land for planting. I'm dealing with brush; they cut down entire forests.
Earlier today, Linda was showing me a family history with photographs of some of her ancestors. She had visited her aunt Kayla in the nursing home the day before, and they had gone through some of the family tree. Aunt Kayla is getting frail, so Linda wanted to do this so the memories wouldn't be lost. The actual family tree is just names, but when you see the photos of those men and women scowling at the camera lens, you know you are looking at hardy stock. They scowled because the photographic process back then was so primitive that it took a minute or more for the chemicals on the plates to react to the light. No one could hold a smile that long. Even so, you know you're looking at some very tough people. Their surroundings are either quite sumptuous if the picture was taken in a studio, or completely spartan if taken on location.
We didn't go through my family albums. I can trace family photographs back to the Civil War, and someday I'll organize them, but today was work day. My arms are scratched up, but my muscles aren't sore. I've cooled down from the sweaty mess of this afternoon, and am grateful tonight for the creature comforts I enjoy. My home is warm; I have hot or cold water at the twist of the tap, my chair is stuffed and my bed is soft. The amenities I take for granted would have been the envy of kings a mere 200 years ago. Less than 100 years ago, my grandfather who operated a linotype machine for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, couldn't imagine typing on an iPad and posting it online for all to see. Again, I hear the words of Christ ringing in my ears, "To whom much is given, much shall be required," and I tremble at the thought.
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