1811 or 2011

Sometimes I can't help but wonder if perhaps Luke and I were born in the wrong era. Last week was one of those times.

A kind new associate of Mike's invited our children to come and watch them haul hay with no machines, just the plain old-fashioned way: with a horse and wagon.

Of course all of my children jumped at the chance, but Luke of course didn't WATCH. He jumped right in and helped. What a kid.

Luke worked hard lifting heavy bales and keeping up with the others more than double, triple and quadruple his age.

As I stood clicking pictures wearing flip-flops and totally non-hay-baling-attire, I daydreamed of being in a farm house cooking bread and fried chicken for the menfolk to come in soon and eat. I thought about how much I would have loved wearing a long dress and an apron and spending my days baking, cleaning and sewing in a time period more than a century ago.

Mike and I are so far removed from this country stuff Luke is in love with. Mike and I have never had the exposure to such things, until Luke has gotten all these new contacts for us. I am now appreciating all sorts of things I never would have thought I would. I spent the morning smiling at Mike and Luke hauling hay while three of my other children observed from a wagon. Despite the heat and the physical exertion, the smile never waned from Luke's face. It was such a step away from our everyday life.

Pretty abruptly I returned to 2011.  The cell phone in my pocket rang through a text message, and a glance at the time told me I was minutes away from a meeting I had to get to. My daydreams of slower time periods with horses, wagons, home-made breads and jams were over.

Oh well. Minutes later when we climbed into the car, my feet were dirty. My black shorts were covered in dust and straw and my kids' clothes and bodies were even filthier. I was relieved and cooled as I blasted the car's air-conditioning on us.

Maybe I wouldn't have survived living in an earlier century after all.