I planted my garden yesterday, and felt so fulfilled by the end of the night.  There is something in me that loves a good day of hard work with my hands.  Interesting that I got to this place based on my past…..
When I was younger, my brother-in-law Bryan lived with our family for a bit while he was working.  My mom and dad always commented on what a hard worker Bryan was, so I asked him one day how he was such a hard worker.  He told me that when he was younger, he REALLY wanted to understand the meaning of hard work.  So in an attempt to do that, he spent an entire summer digging ditches.  (Now I don’t remember what the ditches were for, or if he was getting paid…I just remember he was digging ditches all summer.)  He said that after that summer, he DEFINITELY knew the meaning of hard work.

Fast forward ten or so years, when I was home between years at college.  I was sleeping in a bit, not getting much accomplished, etc.  I thought back to Bryan’s wise words, and decided I needed to learn the meaning of hard work.  I knew of some strawberry fields down the freeway a bit, and got on some grubbies and headed down the road.  When I got to the fields, I was driving all around the dirt looking for someone to talk to.  Everyone, meaning all of the workers, were just irritated that the dust from my car was engulfing them.  I finally saw a big white truck driving pretty quickly in my direction.  He drove right up next to me so we were window to window.  The guy seemed a little irritated and asked me what I wanted.  I then proceeded to go into an entire 5 minute story abut how I really wanted to grasp the idea of working hard….and how I really believed that hard work is how you get places in life etc. etc.  I then offered to help him out and pick strawberries for a few days.

First of all, the guy looked at me with an indescribable expression.  He said, “Hey Lady….you either get a job or don’t.” (I think he was referring to the “few days” I wanted to pick.)  I nicely explained that I had plans that weekend but for these few days, it was completely volunteer work…and if I was compensated that probably would defeat the purpose.  He had the same expression and said, “you are crazy, who sent you out here?”  I told him I came by myself, and I really did want to pick. (I think he thought I was a spy!)  Then he abruptly stopped our conversation and gave me directions back to the freeway.  I then proceeded to beg him to let me work there for free.  I told him I had nothing to do for the next three days, and what a great experience it would be for me. I also tried to butter him up by telling him I would have him to thank for my excellence in hard work, for the rest of my life!  He summed it up with, “drive slow when you get off my fields!”  I somberly drove home.
When I went home to tell my mom what happened, I thought she would have been SO proud of me and my attempt at learning this important concept.  As I was telling her, she just looked at me with big eyes, sighed and said,…..”You’re an idiot!”

On the flip….
I think that my love must be innate.  It just must be in my blood…directly from my dad.  But I’ll admit that our beginning was a little shakey.  It started with a little Disney song named Zippity Do Dah.  My dad, who grew up on a farm and loved him a morning full of work,  would come whistling Zippity Do Dah almost every Saturday morning as I grew up.  At the time, I despised the song because it meant we had to get up and work.  I was actually known to fake sick (never flew) or hide quite often when I heard the song.  Too bad my dad was no dummy, and whistled until he found me.  Once he got to me  (or any other kid), he gave us about five minutes to get up, dressed and outside for a few hours of weed pulling, painting, planting, building, or the worst — cleaning out the garage!  If we didn’t show up or “accidentally” fell back asleep, we got surprised by some water or our feet being slapped. (Not in an abusive sort of way.)  Once we were all on board, we were usually grumbling about how tired we were, and how nobody else we knew was up and working every Saturday. We would always hope nobody came over during our work hours, because without hesitation, my dad would put them straight to work with us.  Talk about embarrassing!

So in summary — I definitely think my dad did more for my love than the tyrant in the field.  And….I do blame Mr. White Truck for my mediocre college effort.  I was still pulling good grades because luckily I was innately smart….but can you imagine the possibilities, had he let me pick?!