Barefoot Memories of a Hillbilly - Work Day Observation (FREE ACCESS)

The sun has put a prime coat on the garden in thousands of shades of delicious, but it has a fresh coat only today of the ‘too hot to breath’.  Under the steadfast supervision of Mom’s direction, we’d managed to pick more green beans this morning than you could imagined. It’s green bean canning day. As we picked the beans up and down the rows, Mom was working alongside of us as well as looking straight thru us with the eyes in the back of her head. She seemed to be able to anticipate every thought and misaction  being released from our imaginations, before we’d had a chance to act upon them. She was determined we were going to get a maximum amount of work done with a minimum of escapades or shenanigans. Did I mention it’s hot? Too hot to breath!

Eleventy million, nine hunnard and twenty four thousand, five hunnard and thirty four. That’s how many beans if feels like we’ve picked, and the more we pick the hotter the sun. Moms got a bean-breaking station set up in the front yard under the shade of the big trees. Old pallets and quilts are stretched out upon the grass for youngens to work upon. The pallets will catch the beans that the grown-ups string, then toss down to the children to break. There’ll be a passel of jars to wash today, and once filled will join the other zillion jars filled and preserving farm treasures and sunshine goodness resting on the warm house shelves. I’ll be washing the jars in big aluminum tubs setting in the back yard filled with soapy water. There’s not much shade back there, but it’s closer to the warm house and the kitchen.

Mom’s running two canners today, so as soon as there’s enough to start filling a canner full of jars, she’ll start filling the first batch, as everyone continues getting those beans broken, and of course getting some jars washed, sterile and ready to fill. We started off finding a tarpin (terrapin) in the garden and set about relocating him far away from the garden but located in a safe area for him. Across the highway up the hill we’ve had our eye on a snake that started crossing the road, only to decide he liked the heat from the asphalt and is now sleeping in the road. Mom says she can tell it’s a big en cause it’s almost taking up the width of half the road. I know it’s huge because all snakes are giant wild, crazed killer anacondas. I just wish if he’s here to kill us that he’d have attacked us before we did all this hot, shoulder tiring work. After picking beans out in the heat this morning and then gathering and washing jars and stringing and breaking, we’re all pretty much too tired and grimy to pass on.

School starts in just a couple weeks, and though I never thought to hear me say this, school sounds a heap more fun than all this jar washing and food preserving. Just as it looks like our hot work for the day is drawing to an end, a pick up truck tops the rise and stops only long enough to look the snake over, then draws closer to the house. Is that the dad gum Peach truck? And there, folks is the perfect reason not to count your horses till your saddled up and ready to head to the pen. That truck appears to be the center of our food preservation assignment for the next couple days. But oh, those peach cobblers!

I wear shoes now, but sometimes I have barefoot memories.