Lessons Learned On The Farm
Joel Faircloth
Collierville, Tenn.
Working in the cotton industry, my wife and I have lived in farming communities in the Southeast and the Delta where we have noted some common characteristics of people living in those areas. They frequently embody the tenets of hard work and respect for others, and they are teaching these ideals to their children.
In 1975, many years and a full head of hair ago, my father and I walked over to our neighbor's house and purchased a 1965, "three on the tree," full-size Chevrolet truck for $300. The truck had endured negligence to say the least and needed a fresh coat of paint, so my father handed my brother and me some paint brushes and a can of blue house paint. As dilapidated as it was, the old truck was the most valuable asset we had in our business of selling firewood.
On Saturday mornings, while most of my friends slept in or watched cartoons (like we wanted to), my brother and I left the house early with my father to work in the woods. At the time, it seemed like sheer drudgery, although I did like earning $4 per truckload by age 10. On a good day, we could cut three loads of firewood, but it also had to be delivered, which frequently occurred after dark. While this does not measure up to the number of hours required on a farm, it was an effective means of giving us a good work ethic.
source : cottonfarming
Joel Faircloth
Collierville, Tenn.
Working in the cotton industry, my wife and I have lived in farming communities in the Southeast and the Delta where we have noted some common characteristics of people living in those areas. They frequently embody the tenets of hard work and respect for others, and they are teaching these ideals to their children.
In 1975, many years and a full head of hair ago, my father and I walked over to our neighbor's house and purchased a 1965, "three on the tree," full-size Chevrolet truck for $300. The truck had endured negligence to say the least and needed a fresh coat of paint, so my father handed my brother and me some paint brushes and a can of blue house paint. As dilapidated as it was, the old truck was the most valuable asset we had in our business of selling firewood.
On Saturday mornings, while most of my friends slept in or watched cartoons (like we wanted to), my brother and I left the house early with my father to work in the woods. At the time, it seemed like sheer drudgery, although I did like earning $4 per truckload by age 10. On a good day, we could cut three loads of firewood, but it also had to be delivered, which frequently occurred after dark. While this does not measure up to the number of hours required on a farm, it was an effective means of giving us a good work ethic.
source : cottonfarming
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