26 November 2020 Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the US. As with everything in life, Thanksgiving reminds me of parallels and perspectives.
Sometimes I grumble because the coating on my range/oven is chipped. The appliance is over twenty years old and still works, thanks to my Honey who has made multiple major repairs to it over the years, but it is pretty worn.
When I grumble, I need to remember that my great-grandmothers had to start a fire in their cookstoves. Somebody had to cut and split the fire wood. Somebody had to carry it inside along with the roaches and termites that came with it. The cooks had to know just what that fire should look like in order to bake a cake or a pie or a loaf of bread. I only have to turn a knob to get the exact temperature called for in my recipe.
Sometimes I grumble because our vehicles are old and decrepit. The '99 Dodge Durango was recently (finally) declared deceased, and the '05 GMC pickup spends more and more time in the infirmary.
When I grumble, I need to remember that my great-grandparents had to toss the harness on a horse and hitch up the buggy or wagon. Have you ever tried to harness a horse without getting dirty? I've never managed it. How did they get to church in clean clothes? How did they keep from sweating or freezing on the way?
Sometimes I grumble because we haven't finished our new house and have been living in a tiny one nearly since our marriage. We have raised four (amazing) kids in a house about which one of my friends said, "Girl, your house would fit in my living room!"
When I grumble, I need to remember that I have running water, central heat and air, every major kitchen appliance, a washer and dryer, and enough storage space to enable me to keep on hand sufficient staples to throw together a meal for ten at the drop of a hat. My great-grandmothers had more storage space than I have. Sometimes those spaces were hot, sometimes cold, sometimes full of water, sometimes infested with insects, rodents, and reptiles. Running water came from a hand pump. Hot water came only after firewood was chopped and a fire was made. They had no refrigeration, no electricity, and laundry was a two-day affair. They sewed because they had to. I sew because I enjoy it. They gardened because they had to. I garden because I enjoy it. They had to dry or can everything they produced. I put most of my excess produce in the freezer.
Sometimes I grumble because I work so hard to feed cattle.
When I grumble, I need to remember that my great-grandfathers harvested corn by hand. An outstandingly fit man could pick an acre a day. Today, combines not only pick the ears but shell the grain in one slick process and cover hundreds of acres a day. My ancestors harvested hay with a scythe, raked by hand, and forked hay onto a horse-drawn conveyance to go either to a stacker or to the barn loft. When they had to feed that hay, they forked it down from the loft and hauled it to the livestock. Today, we cut hay with a swather that is fifteen feet wide and runs about twelve miles an hour. We store the hay in large, round bales. I can pick up one of those thirteen-hundred pound bales with the flick of a hydraulic lever, haul it to the pasture where I want to feed, slice off the net wrap, and unroll the bale for the cattle and horses in a matter of minutes.
Sometimes I grumble because I never seem to have enough time to finish everything.
When I grumble, I need to remember my great-grandparents chopping wood, driving horses, pumping water, washing clothes, hanging out clothes, ironing clothes, sewing everything from underwear to curtains, putting up hay with scythes and rakes, and spending half a day driving to a town that now takes me twenty minutes to reach.
How is it that we have determined that life is so much more hectic and complicated today? We rant if the electricity flickers and resets our clocks. We complain if the store no longer carries our brand of canned oysters. We grumble if a new shirt looks wrinkled when it comes out of the laundry the first time. And we go into apoplexy if our smart phone battery goes flat while we're researching what year Buster Keaton died.
How lucky we are! Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!