A Dew and Two Beers

The view from the window for the last couple of weeks has been of tow-headed kids playing happily in the back yard.   Our daughter-in-law had gall bladder surgery last week and I have been filling in by picking up the boys after school, feeding them supper and then taking supper into town for the ailing mom.  This week I have had the two year old granddaughter all day, too, since her regular baby-sitter is out of town.  It's been a long time since I've been a full time mom and believe me, I'm too old for this!

To make it more fun, it's also tobacco cutting time.  My son and oldest grandson have been helping out friends on a reciprocal basis.  To cut down on labor costs, two or three farmers pitch in and help each other cut their tobacco, thus reducing the amount of labor by the additional hands.  The only thing required when it is your tobacco's turn is that you supply the drinks.  This means coolers iced down with plenty of water, Mt. Dews and beer.  Did I mention beer?

Cutting the tobacco involves working your way down the long rows of tobacco with an implement that looks a lot like a very skinny bladed hatchet, called a tomahawk.  You bend, cut the tobacco stalk, turn and spear it on a piece of wood that is about 1 inch square and four feet long.  Four or five plants will be speared onto one tobacco stick.  Then the sticks are hung in the barn across poles so the tobacco hangs straight down to dry or cure.

Even though my son's crop was severely damaged by the early spring rains, he does have some that will be harvested.  So this week, the guys all gathered at the farm to "bring in the crop".  The little boys were excited to get to go to the patch and listen to the big guys talk and gossip.  The days are hot and the water and dews go down mighty good.  As the day progresses, so do the beers.  It never ceases to amaze me that this crew doesn't maim themselves with the combination of beer and tomahawks, but they never do!  The men are unaffected by their drinks but the little boys return home buzzing with caffeine from the Mt. Dews.

A day or so after the tobacco cutting I looked out to see the little boys climbing the tulip poplar in the driveway with their little sister looking on.  As I watched the idyllic tableau I noticed the little girl take a drink from a green can.  I took off to see who had raided the garage fridge for soft drinks.  I called the little boys down from their tree and sternly lectured them.  "Who told you that you could have a soft drink?"  I questioned.  Heads down, they scuffed the dirt and mumbled, "No one."  "You know that you are supposed to ask before you get a drink.  I always give you something, but you have to ask first.  Besides you know that the Mt. Dew isn't good for your sister." I was in full swing, doing what my daughter calls "beating them to death with my lips".  She says that when I get in full swing I forget to quit. 

I was still going strong when I glanced down into the back of the toy ranger they had been hauling things around the yard in.  Sitting in the back among the boards, rocks, ropes, and toys were two shinning cans of beer.  I stopped in mid-tirade.  "And WHO'S BRIGHT IDEA was it to get the BEERS!!"  I shrieked. 

Without any hesitation, they both turned and pointed at each other and said, "HIS!!"

The good news -- they weren't opened.