Baling Hay and Hard Work

You have probably read a blog of mine talking about how aromas can be one of the most specific memory reminders of us humans. You can take one whiff of something and it takes you back to certain places in your past. I have talked about smelling a lamination machine and thinking of my days at Yarnell's Ice Cream where they packed the half-gallons in plastic.
Well, it happened again as I was riding my bike. This time, it was the fresh cut grass. It reminded me of my granddad's farm, fresh cut hay, and hard work. What was the hard work? Once the hay was cut, my grandfather took his Allis Chalmers tractor and connected the rake to it. He would then rake the hay into neat rows. My Great Uncle Seddie owned the baler. He would come and bale the hay. When the hay was baled, my grandfather would, this time with the wagon attached, come along behind and the bales were put up on the wagon. In my younger days, I could only watch the others lift the heavy bales onto the wagon. In my teen years, I got the "privilege" of doing that. It was hard work for little pay.
So today, I laugh at my son when he complains of a double shift, i.e. working eight hours or two four hour shifts at Olive Garden. He's a host. He gets paid $8 an hour to smile at people and seat them. "When I was a boy...." Once he hears those words, the eyes roll and the brain disengages. That's all right. I did the same to my father when I heard his tales. I've been reading his diaries lately. They are filled with hard work. Work that I never did. So one day, my son will tell his son about his double shifts. Wow, I'm getting old. Have a great day. JW