You don’t hear me complaining about the hot weather, well, not too much. We take air conditioned offices for granted nowadays, and it’s hard to imagine what it was like to work all day in stifling hot spaces, typing on a manual typewriter, but some of us did it.

I’ll bet most of the folks who yearn so much for good old rural Windham have never been in the middle of a hayfield when the temperature is 80 degrees and the threat of a thundershower means hurry up even faster and get the hay under cover, sweating all the while.

Years ago, my grandfather Sawyer would come over to my father’s house early on these pre-summer mornings and with his team of horses and old-fashioned (today) equipment, plow and cultivate the garden spot. One of the horses was named Dolly, but I can’t recall the other one. Later on, they’d return to mow the hay, gathering it up into rows, to be picked up by men with pitchforks, and tossed into the hay rack – pronounced by my grandfather as “hayrick”.

Little did we know we were standing in the middle of a scenic vista or that this little corner of Windham would someday be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, as just plain land, to those who could afford it. They certainly wouldn’t spend their summer days leading horses through clumps of unworked soil or bending and picking up dry grass. Most probably they’d even hire someone to ride on a motorized vehicle to keep the former hayfields and gardens all tidy and neat like a golf course.

I always think of my grandfather as old. Even when I was four or five years old, and he was in his 40s, he seemed to be very old. I don’t even remember what color his hair was, because he always wore an old fashioned felt hat with a brim that defied shape. And, of course, he never talked with us children. Most old people of that day and age, didn’t spend much time in small talk, especially with kids.

As to my other grandfather, he was never a farmer. And I don’t think he ever wore a hat. He started out as a fisherman and carpenter, and that’s what he always did. Even in his oldest days, he whittled and made wooden lobster traps and tied flies for fishing buddies.

My father inherited the skill for building from his father and he was a carpenter all his life, with a reputation for fine cabinetry and an honest work ethic.

None of these men in my background ever took a vacation that I can recall. Once in awhile, my father and some of his friends who worked with him in the school system, would take off for the weekend and go to Rangeley or Dennsyville to fish and/or hunt, but that was seldom.

When I look back at these ancestors who all lived into their 80s, and who worked so hard, it makes me cringe when I hear someone complain about the stresses of today and how much more difficult life is. After all, those generations had wars and economic setbacks and personal problems, plus a whole lot of responsibility and no retirement fund or Social Security. So I try hard not to complain too loudly about the weather.

I don’t have to work outdoors in a hayfield, or nail down shingles on a roof, or follow two huge horses and push a plow. I just have to keep my brain active, make my fingers move on a keyboard and enjoy the air conditioning. And it’s called making a living – I am so lucky.

See you next week.