Growing Up Anonymous

Getting up early simply hurts. Getting up early in the summer hurts even worse, and getting up early in the summer to do work is close to torture. This past summer I had to do just this. Every morning, except for Sundays when I was lucky enough to sleep in a little before church and the occasional Saturday, I would get up around 6:30 and get ready for a day of hard physical labor. I had three jobs this summer: to clear two separate roads through dense woods, and put up a fence along the road by our barn. Because I am still young, my father decided that it would be a good learning experience if, for all of the jobs, I was permitted to use only semi-primitive tools; nothing electric, nothing gas powered. This meant that for clearing roads through the woods, I was allowed to use a saw, clippers, an axe, a shovel, a pike for moving large rocks and the physical labor and companionship of my three younger brothers. For putting up that fence I was, thankfully, given the right to use a posthole digger, albeit an old handheld one.

So, most days I told my friends no thanks to going to the movies, or no thanks to going out to have some late night food or ice cream. I knew that the following morning would be an early one, and if I did not...