Tuesday, August 10, 2010

From frost to heat and more Winter Wheat... it Rhymes!!!

Yesterday I had the audacity to speak of frost... quite funny really, when the past three days have been extremely hot and humid.  Walking out of work today was like walking into a boiling steam bath, only to hop into a cold car when hubby picked me up, then back out into the steam bath to walk to the house, then in to blissful cool again.  Is this really good for us, I wonder?

I have a sore throat, and I'll bet it is because I went from cold to hot to cold to hot to cold.  Talk about confusing the body.  I mentioned this to my husband on the way home, and he suggested I think back 20 years or so to a time when we were renting a first floor suite in an old non-air conditioned apartment complex.  The apartment was so hot and muggy in the summer that we would wrap ourselves in cool wet towels over our bathing suits just to keep cool.  I find the thought of it hilarious today, but we did what we could to stay cool I guess.

I know that the temps have soared all over Canada and the US the past few weeks.  So I'm wishing all my readers will find a nice cool shady area, where a gentle breeze blows now and again.  How about a tall glass of ice tea, or a bowl of chilled watermelon... ahh... how refreshing.  Keep cool everyone...

Winter Wheat continues.... 

Emilie proudly folded her letter and carefully sealed it in the envelope that George had addressed for her.  As she set the letter aside she smiled at George.
“Do you think you could go to town for me tomorrow, George?  I have some butter you could take to the Mercantile, and those seeds I ordered might be waiting at the post office by now, don’t you think?”
George’s wide grin let her know that she was not fooling him in the least.  “Yes, I can go tomorrow, Emilie.”  He teased her and nodded to the envelope that lay on the table between them.  “Would you like me to post that letter for you as well?”  he asked with the devil in his eyes.
Emilie blushed,  “Well seeing as you are going anyway . . .”
“Sure thing, Emilie.”  George rose from the table and tucked the envelope with her letter to Karl safely in his breast pocket.
Emilie watched him walk away, and wondered if indeed the seeds were waiting to be picked up.  When Karl had told her to use her butter money however she chose, she had balked at his words, but then she had realized that a purchase of seeds would benefit the whole family, so she had gladly parted with a portion of her small sum of money and sent away for a large variety of seeds.  She couldn’t wait until the snow was gone and the earth was warm and dry enough to be tilled so she could plant vegetables enough to last well into the following spring.
As well as the seeds for vegetables, she had found a neighbor who was willing sell fertile chicken and goose eggs when they became ready in spring.  Annie had told her of the benefits of raising her own chickens and geese and Emilie fully intended to take her good friends advice and purchase one hundred chicken eggs and twenty five goose eggs.  She was told that with heat and coal oil lamps she could hatch the eggs herself and she had already found the perfect spot in Karl’s kitchen to do just that.  
She plopped her chin into her hand and stared dreamily at the wall and envisioned the productive farm that Karl would return home to come spring.  She couldn’t wait until he returned home to witness first hand the fruits of her all her labours.

Karl Wright lay on the narrow wooden cot that was the only space that had been truly his for the past several months.  The large room where he now lay was crowded with many such cots filled with men from all over the immediate area, men who, like him, had come to the mountains for the winter in order to make enough money to supplement their farming income.
They were mostly a good bunch, save for one or two bad apples, but Karl expected that no camp was any different during this desperate time.  He had made a few friends during his stay, but mostly he rose each morning, worked hard all day, and fell into a deep sleep at night.  He didn’t drink the alcohol that was passed from cot to cot; he didn’t whore at the adjoining camp where a group of desperate women sold themselves for a pocket-full of change, and he never talked about home.
Some of the men poked fun and tried to draw him out, but he ignored them and kept his distance.  The only man who knew the circumstances of his life was his employer, who right from the start saw Karl as an exceptionally hard worker and proud, if not stubborn man.  A true friendship had developed between the two men, and Karl knew that any time he needed work, he need only to contact his friend, and a position would be made available to him.

No comments:

Post a Comment