I hated the garden growing up. Mom always said we were not allowed to say we hated anything, but I did. Working in the garden was worse than a chore and ruined many days of summer vacation.
And my Dad? There were times I thought he was the devil. It often felt like he experienced satanic glee as he forced us into hard labor.
Summer heat in central Mississippi was its own form of brutality. To spend hours and hours without shade seems the harshest of cruelties.
Hoeing weeds? Running a tiller? Picking peas or beans? Digging potatoes? And why did fire ants like to hide out in the garden? Then there was the shelling, snapping, and otherwise finding a place to store all the potatoes.
Years ago, Ann Landers had a periodic column entitled “The Meanest Mom in the World.” But my mom? She was a saint. I don’t know how she handled watching our dad inflict such intentional pain, but she did.
He’d go to work in the morning after ungracefully waking us up and giving us unpaid jobs to do. If it wasn’t the garden, it was cutting grass or splitting firewood.
Believe it or not, when our house was under construction, he forced us to help dig the trenches for the waterline. I almost passed out, not to mention the blisters from swinging a pick into the hard-baked Mississippi dirt. Once again, in the heat of a southern summer without any shade.
Can you believe the cruelty we lived with? Where were social services? Or the Sheriff? Or even the neighbors, even though they were far apart?
Unfortunately, such work requirements for children at home were common. There was little to no sympathy given, but plenty of encouragement to quit being lazy.
Here I am, and others like me, all these years later, and we are none the worse for those experiences. In fact, those hot summer days sweating in the okra and tomatoes, keeping the rows tuned up, and otherwise contributing to the family economy might have been the very best things for us.
As it turns out, Dad was growing more than the garden, as we learned the fruit of responsibility, the labor of discipline, and the joy of a job well done.
Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom.
Now, where did my hoe get off to?
“Blessed are all who fear the Lord, who walk in obedience to him. You will eat the fruit of your labor; blessings and prosperity will be yours.” (Psalms 128:1-2 NIV)
Les Ferguson, Jr. is a minister and faith-based author. He can be reached at lfergusonjr@gmail.com
