The Work of the World

Late in the season, after the final crop of hay is in the barn, our neighbor grazes his cows in the hayfield abutting our southern property line. Over the past few weeks, the boys have taken to rounding up the 40 or so lumbering, cud-chewing beasts for evening milking and driving them the half mile or so across the ridgetop field and down the steep hill to the barn. They do this with no assistance from us. Our neighbor, who is 64 and recently broke ribs when he slipped and fell in the milking parlor, appreciates the help.

It is a task they approach with no small amount of enthusiasm, and I am grateful for this. Even more so, I am thankful that they have the opportunity to experience  first hand a small piece of the essential work of the world, the type of work that goes largely unacknowledged and unappreciated in contemporary America. I sometimes think there is nothing more honorable and heroic than to be engaged in this sort work.

Actually, I’m coming to always think that.