"On The Things I Learned Working In The Fields"

work ethic:  the value that one ought to work hard at one's job or duties; the belief that hard work is intrinsically virtuous or worthy of reward

The weather forecast was for a heat wave across the Willamette Valley with temperatures expected to be in the upper 90’s.  A “Severe Heat Warning” had been issued with instructions to stay inside and how to avoid heat stroke. 

My mind went back decades to summer when I was a young girl, summers spent working in the fields, from the time I was very young until I was 15.

When I was a kid, there were no summer vacations, no challenge for my parents to find ways to fill the days of summer with camps or activities when the school year was completed.  That wasn't because of a year-round school schedule. The summer was spent harvesting fruits and vegetables for the farmers in the area as soon as school came to an end in May,  They were summers spent receiving a different kind of education.

The small rural community I grew up in was known as Tennessee, and my Dad described the area where we lived as “The Tennessee river bottom," The Santiam River originates high in the Cascades, and its tributary, the South Santiam River, flows through that part of the valley floor. The soil is rich and fertile, the result of centuries of flooding in a time before dams. We lived no more than 1/2 mile from the Santiam. I have often said my father could have planted a rock, and it would have grown.  The soil is that good; there is none better.

Farmers, some with just a few acres, others with a large spread, made use of their favorable growing conditions and planted row crops, the main ones strawberries, raspberries, and bush or pole beans.  Their hired labor in harvesting those crops included the kids from the local town nearby and surrounding area. 

Field work is hard and demanding, both mentally and physically, whether one is five years old or an adult. The strawberries were removed from the vines either by standing up and bending over or traversing the row on one's knees. Raspberries were cajoled from the vine and placed in a wooden contraption tied around the waist which held two boxes. Picking pole beans was an up-and-down-the-vine motion. The beans were placed in a 5-gallon bucket then transferred to gunny sacks. When the gunny sack was full, it was carried by the picker down to the scales to be weighed, and a ticket was given, indicating the amount of poundage.

The days began at 7 and ended at 4 with Sunday as a day of rest. The crops needed to be harvested at their optimum time of maturity so that often meant working in blazing heat. I don't remember a field ever closing due to a "Severe Heat Warning." Field work is not for the faint of heart.

Child labor laws forbidding the use of children under the age of 16 working in such a manner are now in existence. The things I learned while working in the fields are important, though, the base of much of my life and the kind of person I am.

It didn't take much thought for me to come up with a list, as these are applied often in my daily life and, especially, in my work as a gardener.

1.  Finish what you start.  Upon being assigned a row to harvest it was expected by the farmer/owner that all the fruit or vegetables would be picked.  Half-measure was never acceptable.  You finished one row, and you were then given another one to pick.

2.  If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.  I am the one who must answer for the task allocated to me.  When my name was placed beside a certain row number to pick it was a commitment, my responsibility.  There was no one else to place the blame on if I didn’t fulfill the assignment given me. 

3.  If it isn't done right, it has to be done over.  Every field had its “row bosses,” usually women who came behind and made certain no fruits or vegetables were left behind, and they had no problem requiring a picker start over from the beginning in order for it to be done right, to be picked clean.  Accountability in action.

4.  Don’t look up.  The rows were long.  While they seemed to be at least ¼ of a mile in length that is probably an exaggeration.  When I asked my brother the length he commented, “Too long.”  For me, the only way I could deal with that enormity was to focus on the area I was working on.  It was my method to keep from being overwhelmed.

5.  Quitting is not an option.  My mother was always either my picking partner or one who worked at the stand, so the idea of quitting never entered my mind.  As she picked along beside me, her example was my standard.

6. "It won't hurt you" and "It won't kill you."   Classic “isms” of Mom, they are most often true.  Even the most difficult of situations isn't generally harmful or fatal, and field work was one of them.

And lastly:

7.  Money doesn't grow on trees.  While that is an accurate statement, it figuratively grew on berry and bean vines.  It just grew in the form of fruit and vegetable and had to be removed.   "Hard-earned money" is the perfect description when it comes to compensation for field work.  Payment for a 6-box carrier of strawberries was 25 cents; it was a bit more for a 12-box crate of raspberries, but those were much smaller and shrank in the heat.  I remember tripping and spilling a crate of raspberries more than once on my way to the stand where the fruit was exchanged for a ticket, proof of work.  The bulk of the crate was difficult for a child to wield while plowing through the vines.  Bean pickers were paid 2 1/2 cents per pound with a whopping 1/4 cent bonus for staying with the farmer the entire season. 

Cashing in the bean and berry tickets at the end of the summer, the money was carefully spent with a great deal of thought going into purchases.  My first (and only) bicycle at the age of 9 or 10 required most of my entire summer's earnings.  An annual savings bond, money for Christmas gifts, school clothes--the result of a summer's efforts.  

I have had more than one conversation with my peers, those who grew up in the same area as I did, many of them picking in the same fields as I.  The common consensus is that, while field work was hard, it was a valuable experience for kids, one that helped develop us into responsible, hard-working adults, contributors to those around us and society at large.  Self-discipline, working under the direction of others, beginning and finishing difficult tasks under difficult circumstances, and being compensated for that difficult work--character-building values learned while working in the fields.

    


"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."  

"On Cheek Exercise aka Laughter"

It was the end of a weekend filled with food, family, and fun.  Doubled over at the waist, gasping for air while laughing, she declared, "I've laughed so hard my cheeks hurt."  "That's a good thing," her sister responded, inflating and deflating her cheeks, vaguely resembling a puffer fish. "You're getting cheek exercise."  The laughter began again, sounds of joy and delight filling the evening air.

Family times with sisters and cousins are infrequent since my youngest daughter's family moved out of the area two years ago.  The girls' weekend was planned to bring us all together--nine females in one house, ranging in age from 9 to 71.  

In all honesty, I approached this time together with cautious anticipation, my mother's/grandmother's radar checking out potential conflicts.  That is a lot of female gathered in one place for three days and three nights. 

The caution was all for naught.  The fact that laughter dominated our time together was above and beyond what I could have hoped for.  

laughter:  the sound of laughing
laugh:  to show that you are happy and that you think something is funny by smiling and making a sound from your throat; an experience of mirth peculiar to the human species 

I love to laugh.  There was a long span of time in my life when I didn't know laughter, a time when deep, dark depression would envelop me, and I wasn't sure if I was going to survive.

It is my personal belief that God has the best sense of humor in the world and, since we are created in His image, it is natural that man would be given a sense of humor as well. And yes, since He laughs, we laugh too.

As those times of depression began to lessen, laughter and humor began to be a part of my life.  Treasured gifts given by Him, I cannot fathom living life without them.   

We have all heard the phrase, "Laughter is the best medicine."  That isn't just a cute catch phrase; it is true.  Laughter is a powerful antidote to stress, pain, and conflict.

Laughter is infectious, far more contagious than a cough, sniffle, or sneeze.  It is difficult to not be drawn in when others are laughing.  In fact, laughing with others is more powerful than laughing alone.  Shared, it brings people together in happiness.   

There are physical as well as emotional benefits from laughter.  It is said to trigger healthy physical changes, including strengthening and boosting your immune system by decreasing stress hormones and increasing immune cells and infection-fighting antibodies, thus improving resistance to disease.  

Laughter boosts your energy, diminishes pain, and relaxes one's whole body, the effects remaining for 45 minutes.  Who knew?

Upon engaging in laughter, the release of endorphins is triggered, the body's natural feel-good chemicals, promoting an overall sense of well-being.  One cannot feel anxious, sad, or angry while laughing.  Laughing just makes you feel good.

A potent dose of laughter also protects the heart, improving the function of blood vessels and increasing blood flow, a protection against heart attack and cardio-vascular problems. 

I laughed and laughed this past weekend.  And then I laughed some more, getting a healthy amount of "cheek exercise."  The time spent with my three daughters and five grandgirls will forever be a part of me, the memories of the sounds of laughter filling my being and my soul.  I could not have asked for more.

May your days, your lives be filled with laughter.  May you laugh.  And then laugh some more. Laugh so hard your cheeks hurt, so that you, too, get "cheek exercise."  It's good for you!  Or, as my Mother would say, "It's good for what ails you."     



"A merry heart does good like medicine."
"Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh."

"On Self-Pity"

"Glad to have you back," a reader commented, referencing the fact that it had been over a month since I had written and posted anything.  When yet another reader mentioned the same thing, it gave me pause for thought.

I only write what I experience.  Where have I been and what has been going on in my life for the past month that kept me from sharing myself?  
  
Today was a mowing day--a wet one at that, but I had plenty of time to think as I plodded back and forth behind my mower.  Somewhere between the 2nd lawn and the 4th one, I knew exactly where I have been.   

self-pity:   excessive, self-absorbed unhappiness over one's life; a self-indulgent, exaggerated attitude concerning one's difficulties, hardships, etc. 

The realization hit me that I was stuck in the quicksand of self-pity for quite some time, consumed by a "poor me, woe is me" attitude.  It gave me good reason to look at that state, that place.  

When self is the focus, life is like a hamster wheel, with the scenery never really changing and the theme song remaining the same.  Self-pity is a debilitating place, rendering one incapable of reaching out to others.  It is the equivalent of creating one's own solitary confinement.  

The gardening season has been a wet one, but no worse than any other years; my gardening schedule overwhelming, but no worse than any other years.  My attitude is what made the difference.

Communication with God consisted of "I am old, and I am soooo tired," along with "I'm not going to make it."  Can't you just hear the wailing?  I'm surprised I didn't resort to weeping and beating my chest.  Only He knows how many times I sounded that cry of desperation, and I have no doubt He brought out the earplugs.  

I called it whining, and when I tried dragging a friend along to my pity party, I knew something needed to change, for it had gone beyond whining--or even moaning and groaning.  I was miserable in my state.

Finally, I stopped throwing words at God and planted myself before Him.  "I'm not whining," I told Him.  "I'm complaining."

Very softly, very quietly--"In everything give thanks, for this is My will." 

I cannot explain to you how change takes place at the hand of our Creator.  I only know that it does.  "I'm not suffering," I thought.  "I'm just tired."  And that is how I came back. Once again I am free to share.

I worked today in inclement weather and got quite soaked and yet it was a good day, a productive one. That is what it is like when I'm not wallowing in self-pity.

"Our God is a good God," I told my friend.  And He is.



      

"On Regret"

"So, Ladonna, what is your story?" he asked.  I found I was at a loss for words, which is extremely rare for me.

The young man and I had recently been introduced to one another and were in the garden of a client.  It was his way of becoming better acquainted, of making conversation while working together on gardening tasks.

The question was one I had never been asked before.  A deluge of thoughts instantly filled my mind like water released through floodgates.  How does one condense a span of 71 years into a few sentences?

I ended up telling him where I was born and raised.  That I grew up on a farm where my father fed our family from a huge garden and large orchard, my mother freezing and preserving it all; that he had a small herd of milk cows and raised the beef our family ate; that my childhood was simple yet rich, though not in a monetary sense.  They were basic facts about my life but, I realized, not "my story."

Each of us has one--a story, that is.  Our stories are uniquely individual and personal, and we are the sole possessors of them.  There are no duplicates.

regret:  to feel sorry about anything that has or has not happened; to feel sorry about anything

The house has been vacant since my client passed away several months ago, but I continue maintaining the garden, as it has been placed on the market for sale.  The lawn needed mowing today, and as I was edging it, I heard myself tell my Father, "Thank you for my life.  I have no regrets."

Regret is an insidious cohort.  Time is ever moving forward; reliving or redoing the past is not an option.  The "what ifs" and "if only(s)," beginning as seeds of thought, can grow within one's mind, gradually taking over and becoming obsessive, until we are unable to live life in the present.  

The piano has been a part of my life for as long as I have memory.  I began taking lessons when I was 5.  As a young girl, perhaps 9 or so, I was given the opportunity to study at The Juilliard School of Music via a correspondence course facilitated by my piano teacher. My parents declined.  I don't know their reasoning; I was never consulted nor involved in the decision.  In fact, we never spoke of it, neither the opportunity nor the decision.

The incident, deep in the recesses of my mind, wasn't given much thought until years later.  It was then I got caught up in an imaginary world.  What if I had gone down that road?  Would I be a world-famous concert pianist?  What had I missed out on?  What had my parents denied me?  My mind was consumed.

As time passed, I realized I had been given a gift.  Life as a classical pianist would not have suited me.  It would have been a perfect environment for ego and a self-centered, narcissistic attitude to thrive and explode. I would have been of no "earthly good" to anyone, absorbed by and focused on one thing and one thing only--self.  For me, striving for perfection at that level diminished all the joy of playing.  In addition, the competition in the music world is fierce, and I very probably would have not survived the cut of the very elite.

The hypothetical wondering about a road not taken was replaced with "I have no regrets."

At the end of high school I made a decision, that of getting married instead of attending college.  It wasn't based on finances, as there probably would have been resources available; it was very personal, one which many felt defied logic.

As I am wont to do, when I make such a decision, I don't look back, and I didn't. 

The base of all things and all life is spiritual.  Instead of training as a classical pianist or preparing for a career in a variety of fields, I was given another kind of education, one personally designed for me, at the feet of God.  "My story" is founded on that spiritual walk, getting to knowing Him as a person and learning how to live my life with Him.     
   
Fast forward almost 54 years, and I find myself a 71-year-old single woman, self-employed as a gardener, mowing the lawn of a client who has passed away.  I had no career, have no degree beyond high school, and have none of the perks that go along with those things, such as financial stability and resources.  
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Do I have any regrets?  No, I don't.  I have one life and only one.  This is the one ordained for me, and I am a wealthy woman for I have that which money cannot buy.   

My challenge to you is that you examine your life, your story, before our Father.  And may you have no regrets as well--in this life or the next to come.



  

"On Prayer"

prayer:  a practice of communicating with one's God; petition, request

Mentally, I went through the check list:  rubber boots--check; rain paints--check; pressure washer in place, all fittings tightened; water turned on, gas tank full.  All that was left was to pull the starter, and I could begin my job.

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The sidewalk entrance to the law offices was covered with moss.  A woman had slipped on the slimy stuff before so my client had asked me to pressure wash the area clean.  I assured him that I would---but that was several months ago.  He very kindly asked it of me again this past week.  My plan was to have it taken care of when he returned to his office Monday.

The label atop my machine states, "Easy Start."  Wrong!!  One cannot believe everything one reads.  After more than a few pulls on the starter, it fired up—for about 10 seconds.  (It had been a while since I used it.)  “Please, God.  Please get this thing started.”  It wasn't happening.  The starter cord had wrapped around itself inside the casing, and it did not want to release.  

      

I worked with the starter cable and attempted repeatedly to start it, but to no avail.  The only option facing me was to load the pressure washer back onto the truck, determine what was wrong with it, and come back another day.  

Just then a man walking down the street asked,. “Do you need some help?”  I immediately accepted his offer.  It wasn’t an easy task for him either. Often a guy is able to start my equipment on the first try when I’ve struggled unsuccessfully for 10 minutes or more but not so this time.   It took quite a bit of effort on his part, but finally the recalcitrant pressure washer decided to cooperate. 

Thrilled, excited, and thankful as the engine roared away, I gave him a "high-five."   As he walked away I said, “Thank you.  You are an answer to prayer.”  Sometimes I have no idea what is going to come out of my mouth. This was one of those times, but yes, he was.

What, exactly, is prayer?  And the age-old question—does “it” work?  And, another question—why bother? 

For me, prayer is an ongoing part of my daily life as my spirit, soul, and being reach out to my Heavenly Father.  For some, it may be like a meal, where one stops and eats, setting aside a specific time to communicate with Him.  For others prayer may be like a visit to the emergency room, a last resort, utilized only in the most dire and crucial times of life.     

As to whether "it" works or not, it is my opinion that "it" comes with several caveats.  It's similar to looking at a house, a car, a boat, anything which has a price tag on it and questioning if I can afford it.  The answer to that always comes down to how much money I have to spend, what my resources are.  Prayer, in and of itself, is just words and has no value. The value of prayer depends upon the One to whom one prays, one's relationship to and with Him, and what His resources are.
     
I am not a pray-er.  I used to be, coming before God with my list of requests, creating an attitude of reverence in myself as I bowed my head and closed my eyes.  That form, that ritual disappeared as I became more acquainted with Him..   

When one has a best friend, a no-holds-barred friend, and that friend knows all of your secrets and every single thing about you, you are free to be--free to be yourself.  "What to do?  Help!!  Thank you SO much!  I don't understand.  What is the point?  I don't 'get it.'  I am scared--really, really scared.  Are you sure you know what you're doing?" This is God I am talking to, and I can be myself and be completely honest with Him.  And yes, this is prayer.  Do I ask specific things of Him as well?  Absolutely!!  

There are many who feel there is power in numbers, that the more people who pray for something or someone the more likely God is to answer.  Support of fellow man is certainly priceless, but I am of the inclination that quality is of greater importance than quantity. Is God more likely to respond to a mass plea than an individual?  I don't think so, but that is just me.    

"The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective."

Recently I attended an event in a public venue.  Before the program began, the one in charge asked those in attendance to bow their heads as prayer was offered, asking God's blessing upon the program and safety for those involved.  As the prayer concluded I found myself thinking, "Those requests should have been made privately not publicly." 

Prayer is a very personal, very private thing, and I am of the conviction that it is only for the ears of God, not man.  Am I against public prayer?  I may be.  It's something I am working through and have not yet come to a conclusion about.

"When you pray, do not be like those who love to pray standing in the synagogue and on the street corner.  But go into your room, shut the door, and pray to your Father in secret."

Prayer is never about the words.  Prayer is always about the heart and its sincerity, reaching out to our Heavenly Father, seeking Him and Him alone.

"When you pray, do not keep talking on and on......like those who think they will be heard because they talk a lot."

And that brings me to the final question--Why bother?  

On my best of days, I am barely able to see the nose on the end of my face.  I live and function at ground level.  Why then, wouldn't I relate to and communicate with the One who created me, Who knows me far better than I know myself, Who loves me and cares about every facet of my life?  Left to myself, I am a floundering idiot on the face of this earth. Prayer is how I am able to express myself to God.  He hears and He does respond. And that is why.

"I will lead you and guide you in the way you should go."




      

"On 'What If?'"

Weedeater in tow, I headed to edge the lawn before mowing.  “Thankfully, I’m not going to be doing this forever,” I thought.  The thought brought me some solace.  I’ve mowed that same lawn scores of times.  The repetitiveness week after week, year after year can be mentally taxing.  And “forever” is a long, long time.

forever:  adv.  for all time, for all eternity, for an infinite amount of time.  Syn.:  always, eternally, evermore, continually 

One of my pregnancies was in the heat of summer.  Plagued with allergies and unable to take any form of medications for the ravaging attacks made it difficult.  In addition, the little one decided to delay entrance into the world 10 days past the due date.

I remember a specific point in time when I determined I was going to be pregnant forever.  It was not a point open for discussion, but even if it was, no one could have persuaded or convinced me otherwise.  Logic would not have prevailed.  The mind is a formidable battleground.  And “forever” is a long, long time.  I knew it to be so.

We live in a society, a culture, where the importance of being prepared is stressed.  In fact, fortunes are made from the promotion of preparedness.  An effort is made to be ready for every kind of potential, hypothetical situation from the beginning of life to the end.

Many parents begin preparing for their child’s college at the time of birth by setting up a college fund.  There are those who start in infancy, making certain their child is placed in the “right”  school from nursery school through high school so he/she will be accepted into the "right" college.  This is preparation at its finest.

The base premise, the sales pitch of insurance salesmen is that of the need to be prepared for the possibility of any variety of scenarios.   We all have insurance policies “in case of” earthquakes, flooding, fire, automobile accidents, and death.  Death is the only assured, inevitable one.

The amount of money spent on the insurance industry promoting protection and preparedness is astronomical.  It is estimated Americans spent near 1 trillion dollars on health insurance alone in 2014, and that does not include private company health plans.  

Many have a stockpile of food and cash out of fear the electrical grid will be disabled.  The possibility of intruders is dealt with by alarm systems in our homes and/or personal firearms.  Stock portfolios are diversified so that the ups and downs of the stock market have the least possible affect.  Families have plans in place if disaster strikes so family members know where to go, what to do, where to meet.  

Flu shots, annual health exams, gym memberships—all in the hope of averting any physical condition or disease.  We prepare for the end of life with wills, funeral plans, and directives when we may not be able to express our will concerning physical care. 

It is my belief that man has been created an eternal being.  While our physical life, the short-term one, may last several decades, perhaps 9 or even 10, the next life, the long-term one, extends into infinity.  We are actually "forever" beings.  Life does not end upon physical death.  Each one of us is one step, one breath, one heartbeat away from the next dimension, and that dimension is more real and has more substance than anything we see or experience with our physical eyes. 

It is not my goal nor my desire to try to convince you of something you simply do not believe.  However, it IS my goal and my desire to challenge you to question the truth and merit of what I say.  

Take a single step back and look, consider, evaluate.  What if?  Given the fact of the brevity of our physical life in comparison to the length of the next one, what if man prepared for long-term with even a small amount of the time, energy, and thought given in preparation for short-term?  Let me see--90 years vs. infinity.  From a place of pure logic and common sense, which warrants the greater attention?  What if?  "Forever" is a long, long time.  

"In my Father's house are many places to live.  I am going there to prepare a place for you. I will take you with me so that you can be where I am."

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"On Praying"

praying--what people do when life has them in a crunch

There is a world of difference between talking TO and WITH someone and talking AT them.  None of us like to have words thrown at us, especially if something is being asked of us.  Rather, we prefer to be engaged in a conversation.  Why would God be any different? 

If one is going to pray, make it personal, make it matter.  That is what communication is; that is what makes a relationship.