The setting is last farm meeting. After a hearty breakfast, and talking over all things farm for a month we decided to go move calves, since we all happened to be there at the time.
O.k., I don't know how to explain it, and how interested in our particular farm's method of moving calves, but in order to do so we have to herd them through a pen. Since there were a few relatively new calves in there we had to move them into the calf barn.
K, sorry, but this is essential where I'm going.
So, I picked up one of the calves and carried it over. Have you ever carried a calf (never mind, I know the answer)? You feel like if you were a bit cleaner, smiled big, and had your hair tousled in the wind you could be a painting on a country calender.
After we were done Cheryle came out and was rubbing her arm off in a pile of sawdust.
Cheryle, as I'm sure you've guessed, is my co-worker. My reprieve on my days off. I milked together with her for a month or so. She's in her fifties, drives truck, and ropes calves. She makes me laugh very hard.
She's told me a little bit about her life. How she wanted to drop-out, but decided that school was better then the alternetive. How she hated school. Hated sitting still all day. How she went to business school, and eventually came to terms with the fact that she's a physical labour person. She thinks she would've loved to become a mechanic. She and her husband do logging as a business.
She used to load fifty bales of hay onto a truck on her own, for her horses. I must admit, even I was impressed by this. I was also dejected since she, with experiance, had said woman weren't made to push themselves to that extent. I guess she feels it now. Just another subtle warning that it would be good to take care of myself now. I'm getting a lot of those lately. I'm afraid I don't really listen, but I know, I should.
So, she's scrubbing scours off with a handful of sawdust when she looks at me, wrinkles her nose, and asks, "can you imagine living in the city." I found this so an epitome of something. Yet amusing, and cool, because she was not living, doing anything glamourous about the country at the moment. Yet she was still being a true, aging, outdoor tomboy.
I wrinkled my nose back, at the thought. And then told her that my Mom wanted me to apply at the bank after graduation.
Her voice surprized, "At a bank?" More wrinkling of noses. "Office work kills you if you're not cut out for it. Believe me I know."
The other day I walked in to pay a bill. Well standing in line I was struck with one thought. "This, this would kill me." I can't imagine having to get myself a pair of pumps. Getting up and spending fifteen minutes making myself look professional. Filling out forms all day.
Nope. It's just not me. And I'm glad I didn't have to find it out the hard way. Not that getting up at 3:30 is me. I'm a total and complete night girl. But I survive. And come out stronger for it in the end.