The Value of Work

24 September, 13

Growing up in South Carolina, I naturally went deer hunting. Usually my daddy would say something like, "Hey, boy! You wanna go huntin' tomorrow?" To which I would eagerly reply, "Does a squirrel have nuts?" The double entendre still makes me laugh.

Hunting is more than just shooting Bambi, although I have absolutely no problem with that. I am a Redneck after all. Hunters are the original "Slow Food Movement" crowd. Hunting is a series of events that all weave together to make a beautiful camo-patterned tapestry. Early in the morning, about 4:30 AM, my daddy would wake me up. I would launch out of bed and throw on my camouflage everything and jump in the truck. First Breakfast was Sweet Sixteen donuts and black coffee right out of the thermos, man style. That means it was hot and strong enough to melt the enamel right off your teeth. I didn't necessarily like coffee, but my daddy did, so I did too. I am so thankful he didn't like hot tea or lattes. We would climb up into a deer stand at Kirk Dunlap's farm and wait for daylight and that elusive buck. Sometimes we got him. Sometimes he got us. Then we would have Second Breakfast, the big one with grits and eggs and bacon and toast and red-eye gravy. All the hunters would talk about what they saw or didn't see. Inevitably somebody would tell a story about the "Big One" from last year. It was always a great morning.

Until the work started.

You see, my daddy was a cunning little devil. Still is, actually. He knew he could get me out the door by dangling the hunting carrot in front of my nose. Once I was in the truck, I inevitably smelled the gasoline can that went with the big box of chainsaws, axes and other tools of manly destruction. Hunting season meant woodpile season. They say you can get warm three ways by using a fireplace. Cutting the wood. Stacking the wood. Burning the wood. It was hot, dirty, hard work.

I actually tried to get out of it one time by sleeping in my closet, hoping my daddy wouldn't find me. He did. That day I was sleepy AND tired. At the end of the day, though, I always loved seeing a truck bed full of wood. I knew we had accomplished something. To this day, I am very goal-oriented. I will quit before I start, unless I have some higher goal in mind. I already shared how much quit I have in me.

My oldest daughter, Elizabeth, is a little bit of a diva, bless her heart. Alright, she's ALL DEE-VAH. Work is not in her vocabulary. We are praying for a very rich man to fall madly in love with her. Right now she is having to work twice as hard as all the other students at her school, because her classes are in Spanish. She has to translate the pages, then study them. It will be work. Hard work. I hope Elizabeth will stick it out long enough to see the truck bed full of wood. With a little luck, we can stoke a fire in her to fall in love with learning. That will keep her warm long after we are gone. Maybe I should take her hunting...