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The Story of the Farm Hand

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L-R, Mr. Big Food, Pat, President of Our County Board of Supervisors and owner of many chain saws, and The Farm Hand, building a burn pile

This post is dedicated to the geezers– young and old (said very affectionately)– who think the end of Western Civilization is nigh. Don’t get me wrong, I share your sentiments. When we have a national conversation about KFC in the halls of congress, all is most certainly not well. I have spent the last 20 years or so preparing for TEOTWAWKI. I have 16 ways of boiling water and only six of them require electricity. I have spent an inordinate amount of time and energy preserving Western Civilization in my 3300+ volume library of honest to God crappy old books. I live on a Farm in the middle of a state no one gives a hoot about. I have an asparagus patch! Generators, deep freezers, guns, ammo. Hell, I even have a roller washtub and a 250 gallon rain barrel. So I share your concerns. I reject your conclusions. Here’s why.

The Story of the Farm Hand

I have a Farm Hand. He’s a 16 year old kid who plays baseball and football. He tells me he’s an A-B student and his favorite subject is biology, least favorite, English literature. (He liked Romeo and Juliette; did not like Julius Caesar.) He does not know that the “Fe” on the spray bottle on the picnic table stands for ferrum or why I would spray iron on my gardenias, but he is well acquainted with the Pythagorean Theorem which we’ll make use of when we build an adjustable stand for my 50W portable solar panel. He went to the prom but his girlfriend has since dumped him. He likes to fish. Given some random comments he’s made over the weeks he’s been in my employ, I strongly suspect he very much looks forward to spending Friday nights with his buddies. He always calls me “ma’am,” even when he texts me.

So he’s a kid in the rural South.

His dad is a high school teacher with a master’s degree. His mom’s a nurse.

During the final 45 minutes of his ten hour work week last Saturday, he was enthusiastically clearing out the entrance to the pasture in which the sheep, Bonnie & Clyde, live. Weed-wacking and chain sawing like nobody’s business! (He’s quite keen on Farm Hand tasks that involve destroying things.) I went to check on him and he was walking up to the patio looking a bit ashen. Said his mom and dad had just driven up. There was a family emergency and was it okay if he left right away? Of course. I ran inside, got his $100, paid him and wished him well.

John and I speculated that a family member had been in an accident, or that one of his grandparents– who he loves to talk about– had fallen ill. Later I texted him “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.” Now, I of course know that in a community where the Farm Hand’s great uncle had been part of the crew that built the Farm’s chimney (it was a monstrous task, I’m told) we are pretty far down the list of folks who would be called upon to do anything, but offering to help is just what one does.

There was no immediate reply to my text, and I silently hoped all was not too terrible.

I got a reply Monday morning. It began,

“Miss Marica– this is [insert name] [insert name of Farm Hand]’s dad. Thanks for your concern, but all is well. I wanted to let you know that it may be a few days before [Farm Hand] is back at work. He is grounded, and will only be going to school and back home.”

I happened to be sitting in the truck with John at the time I started reading, so I read it out loud. We cracked up! For starters, there’s “Miss Marica” coming from a grown man who must be pushing 40 or so. But that’s just Southern manners for you. It is how a younger person addresses his elders.

The Farm Hand is grounded! Heh. So that’s the family emergency. Farm Hand’s Dad went on to give me his own cell number because, “[Farm Hand] won’t have his phone for a while.”

I later texted his number, thanked him, said we understood, what with having three previously teenaged girls who attracted their fair share of teenaged boys, and put in a good word for the Farm Hand.

We texted back and forth. Here’s a quotable quote:

Thanks for understanding! Like I said, he’s just being a boy. Sometimes though, that entails a bit of punishment. Not letting him work seems the worst punishment of all– he really enjoys working at your place!

Think on that.

I have no idea what the Farm Hand did. In this context, “being a boy” does not mean he fidgeted in his seat. Whatever it was he did (no doubt Friday night), that his parents found out about– presumably on Saturday afternoon, and more than likely from the parents of some other boy– was in their minds so egregious that they were compelled to drive out here together and tell him one of two things. Either there was a “family emergency” and he needed to come home right now, or they busted him on the spot and told him to get his butt home now. (If asked, tell Miss Marica there’s a family emergency.) I prefer to believe they busted him on the spot– it would explain his ashen face.

I am dying laughing as I write this. Reminds me of the time… . Well, that’s a different story. Did you catch this part?

“Not letting him work seems the worst punishment of all–“

Grounded. No phone. No car. Being carted back & forth to school by your dad. Probably everyone at school talking about it, at least for a day or two. And the worst part is not being able to work as a Farm Hand. No mention of not getting paid. “Not letting him work… .”

“… worst punishment of all–“

The End

So geezers (said very affectionately), maybe I’m overly optimistic, and maybe things will get so bad that we’ll start eating each other, and maybe, as Bracken notes, things will just take longer to deteriorate the farther from the city one is. (The Official name of the Farm is Farther Along Farm.) But I’ll bet that across this land last weekend there were many more stories of Farm Hands than any of us realizes. Through my rose-colored glasses, that give me hope.

21 Responses

  1. Heh. Waiting to hear _that_ story! Wonder how long before _you_ hear it!

    Think he reads your blog????

    Naaaah. Too young.

    1. Nah. Like 99.9999999999999% of the population, he doesn’t know I have a blog.

      I know. John & I wonder what he did, too. I’m not going to ask, though. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s a fair chance alcohol was involved. 🙂

    2. Dumbass. He put four 24-packs of cold Michelob Lt in their storage unit and someone ratted him out and his folks found it. Made him pour each & every can out in front of them. What a waste of disgusting cheap beer!

      And that’s what he does with his hard earned money. Dumbass.

      1. We’re only young once! Surviving youth means most of us learn a lot. Or not. There are always some who somehow manage to remain childlike for as long as they live – which is usually for a shorter time than those who manage to outgrow youth!

        How’d you learn the details??

  3. “He asked if I wanted to know what happened!”

    Well…that was easy! was your impression of him that “darn it I got caught!” or “guess that was pretty dumb” ??

    1. Nah. He’s pissed he got caught. Still even yesterday. Only lesson he learned is that he needs to hide his beer better.

      I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this. He’s not my kid so what do I care but the thing that’s starting to get me is how un-curious he is. Not that he doesn’t ask questions but that his world is crushingly small.

      It’s been a long time since I’ve been around kids his age. The “kids” I know well are all in their early mid-20s and because I know them through John, all have at least a master’s degree and have shown enough fortitude to be in a position to even be associated with John. They are successful young people with a wide array of interests in *things*. Discussions with them are con-versations.

      Sorry for unloading but I’m not done and you seem interested.

      So Friday night John and I were talking about him. And John made the comment that FH had no idea how lucky he is to have this opportunity. Said in a nice way, not snotty. By fortune of us knowing our county supervisor and being friends with him, and the Sup being family friends with FH’s folks, the FH has landed an unbelievable gig.

      John thinks for a minute and then says, heh. FH is 3 degrees of separation from Francis Crick and James Watson! To which I add, yeah. And on account of the fact that he was SIR Francis, being knighted and all, FH is 4 degrees of separation from the f-ing QUEEN of ENGLAND.

      Doesn’t *mean* jack but still pretty cool, I would think.

      Anyway. So yesterday I mention this to FH. Do you know who Crick & Watson are (were, Crick’s dead)? Mind, his favorite subject is biology. How do … never mind. DNA. Oh, yeah! So maybe it just didn’t come to him or he’s faking it. I figured he had no idea what the 6 degrees thing is so you know someone who knows someone… . Again, I don’t know him well enough to know if he was faking it or what mind boggled or what. But you know, Sue, if you told me that you lived next door to someone who a very close personal friend (and that’s what our friend who knew Crick was) of Einstein, I sure as hell would have a question or two for you, starting with who is your next door neighbor.

      And it gets worse. And I suppose you can chalk this up to crappy schools but… . So yesterday’s task was to sort and clean the books that Caroline and her husband Jordan left in the apartment when they moved. Jordan has wiiiiiide ranging interests and is a voracious reader. So his bookcase was FH’s assignment. Sort. Fiction/non. Sort non into various meaningful categories like philosophy, literature, other humanities, etc. Fiction’s true, right? Wrong but okay. I guess they don’t do Library anymore. Wow. Shakespeare wrote a lot of books. Well. That too is technically false but whatever. Here’s the one that got me. “From Galileo to Newton” what box does that go in? AND THEN after we are reminded of who Galileo was and what he did I say like this is cool, John once gave a lecture in Galileo’s lecture hall in Italy.

      And to top it all off. He said first thing at 9am his folks would only let him work until 3, no lunch break. Fine. 11 rolls around and he’s sorry he just can’t make it someone’s coming to get him. (Dad brought him, still no car.) And who pulls up but another dumbass 16 year old. Do he’s not fooling me. But he’s not my kid. He took an hour out of work day to hang with his pal.

      That’s what I mean by crushingly small world. He’s not doing a task he likes to do. No gas-powered heavy equipment. He’s surrounded by books. Never, what’s this about? Or why does economics go in science? (I know Jordan’s tastes in economics books.) Just gotta game the system and think he’s pulling one over on Dad.

      Well. I feel much better. Thank you very much. Reflecting on our earlier conversations, I think you’re right. He just doesn’t know how very much he doesn’t know and how big the world is.

      Again. Thanks. I’m going to learn some stuff about electirc!! Hey! You know about electricity!!

      So I want to get Miss M two things, a portable solar panel (like mine but smaller) + a power pack/ bank. But I’m confused about wattage stuff. (My 24W solar panel will not charge my 32,000mAh (121.6Wh) power bank so I know this is a thing.) Will a 16W solar panel charge a 45W (output) bank? ?? So much I don’t know!

  4. Ummmm….
    well….actually I don’t know about electricity. As far as I’m concerned, it’s black magic. White magic. Magic in any case. And I’m unendlingly grateful for it.
    What I know about electricity starts with the light bulb and ends at the wall.

    Generally speaking, the voltages have to match…16W won’t _power_ a 45W device, but it might charge it. What voltage does the 16W device put out, and what voltage does the 45W require for input? Then you’d get into amperage or amp hours. Again…what does the 16W device put out, and what does the 45W require? There should be info somewhere on the labels they stick everywhere on stuff.

    I know it sounds illogical, but knowing light bulbs doesn’t require knowledge of electricity. Specifications, yes…but actual knowledge about electricity….no. Generally speaking, i’d just do a lot of researching on line to try to find out the limits if I needed to know the answers you’re looking for. They’ve _got_ to be out there somewhere!

    I don’t know if it will help, but Volts x Amps = Watts. Amps = Watts/Volts etc.

  5. By the way…
    I think FH is cruisin’ for a bruisin’.
    I wonder if he’s an only child… He’s really working on dodging parental supervision, and trying to do stuff that’s going to get him in trouble. The only good news I hear in what you say is that he’s working all that hard for beer. I’d guess that hard liquor and drugs aren’t especially available locally – which is sure a good thing!
    Speaking of hard liquor…wonder how he managed to buy that beer…I’m guessing that 16 is underage to buy any alcohol beverage in your area??? I also wonder if his parents belong to a religion that forbids alcohol. I know some of the southern states have branches of religion that considers alcohol to be a major no-no. Rebellion in kids tends to focus on “extra bad” stuff. And of course….who’s the other “bad” kid. Bet he gets elected to hide the beer the next time… Parents need to get together, I suspect!

    1. Couple of things. I think he is an only. That’s the first thing Margaret asked– where’d he get it? It’s a DRY county!!! So of course someone’s older brother bought it or worse, he’s hanging around with dead beat older guys– you know, real loosers. Cruisin’ for a brusin’ haven’t heard that in a long time!

      His parents are probably Baptist. Lots of the older folks do feel that way about alcohol– which is why time and again we can’t get the dry county thing changed. Too worried Mama and the Preacher Man will know how you voted!

      The other piece of good news is that this is his 2nd job this summer. As soon as school’s out he’ll be working for our county supervisor doing really serious manual labor in the summer. Our Sup won’t put up with any sh*t, and he’s friends with FH’s parents. So there’s that.

  6. “As soon as school’s out he’ll be working for our county supervisor doing really serious manual labor in the summer.

    “…really serious manual labor…” Wonder how long he’ll last in that job!

    8 hours a day in MS heat and humidity and it’ll take about 2 beers to put him flat on his keister!

    I realize I’m seriously out of step with the times, but _if_ there’s a choice (and one rarely knows about someone else) I think it’s a real mistake to have a single child. Sometimes it’s not an option for all sorts of reasons, but in this day and age, there is so much encouragement/requirement for women to work that having multiple kids seems like too much, but at the same time, having just one…not good for the kid, imo. Siblings take edges off a kid when the parents don’t even know the edges are there, if you know what I mean.

    1. As the mother of three spaced 19 & 18 months apart, I know what you mean.

  7. I think once the FH has to deal with the reality of hard labour in those temperatures he will be longing to sort books again!

    It was interesting to hear that you live in a dry county. We had a plebiscite a couple years ago to vote on whether or not we wanted our little village to remain dry. Most people were surprised to learn that our area was still dry, including the craft brewery that was trying to start a new business.

    1. FH is also starting work for the county. He’ll be low man on the road crew totem pole so his FH work is going to be a walk in the park!

      Dry counties are such a hoot. And the funniest thing is that the state is probably going to vote on medical marijuana in the next couple of years. But you can’t buy beer!

      1. haha! He will long for your books 😉 He will be the one who gets to carry all the heavy things and do the jobs no one else wants to.

        It was pretty funny to learn our area was dry. At least common sense prevailed here once people realized someone wanted to build a local business. And the brewery has done quite well and literally put us on the map!

        I hope you are well!

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