#10 – Zürich
Lunch was a quiet affair, with Mom occasionally saying something that no one cared about. Once that was over Uncle Charles led us outside and backed away so we could say our goodbyes. Mom kissed my forehead, told me to be good and got in the car. Dad nodded at me, shook hands with Uncle Charles and started the car. Uncle Charles led me towards the house again, his hand on my shoulder.
“Tell me what you know about farming,” He told me.
I thought about it, “They didn't really tell us anything in school but I'm guessing that it's hard work.”
He nodded, “Expect to never feel pain like this ever again unless they bring you here again next summer. You and Charlie will be sharing a room since we don't have a lot of space.”
I nodded and I imagined that it was better than Lance's couch, which was known to sprout weird things in the night. I figured it was a bachelor thing although he was the only bachelor's couch I'd ever spent the night on.
The room was slightly smaller than mine was, with two beds on opposite sides of the room, both next to windows. The walls were painted a soft cream, the carpeting was brown, and their were two dressers, one by each bed.
After I put my stuff away, he put me to work. I basically walked around and shoveled cow shit into a wheel-barrow and once that was done, I rolled it far away and dumped them all in the same hole. It was simple stuff, but time-consuming and the heat didn't help. I didn't realize just how much cows crapped until then. It was already eight o'clock when Uncle Charles called for me to come in, wash my hands and help myself to dinner.
The next three or four days felt like they were on repeat. I'd get up, Charles Jr. would push me and use most of the hot water for his shower, I'd shower, have breakfast, we'd all go out in the fields and work, I'd go in for dinner at about eight, help wash dishes, watch some cartoons since all the other channels had really thick accents, take another shower and go to sleep.
One day Uncle Charles called me in early to help with dinner, something he and Charles Jr. did. I figured it was a father-son bonding... thing or whatever so I was surprised when he made me wash my hands and start peeling potatoes.
I reluctantly told him, “I don't know how to do anything in the kitchen.”
He looked at me and said, “I can't believe that your mother never taught you how to cook. She was one of the best meatloaf makers in the town; but then again that was all she could cook.”
I blinked, “Mom can cook? The only food I've ever seen her get is from the delivery guy when Elga has days off.”
He chuckled a little and said, “With hands like yours, I suspect you may do better than she did with this part.”
I frowned a little, confused, and looked at my hands. I had small hands with chubby fingers, a small cut on my left middle-finger from getting pushed onto glass once, but other than that flawless since I wore gloves. I don't think that they meant to go that far, because they all scattered instead of staying to gloat.
“What's wrong her hands?” I asked. He smiled down at me and said, “Absolutely nothing. You use them for things instead of letting them go to waste; that's how I like my kids.” It was a good thing we started early because I held up dinner by at least a half an hour with how slow I was peeling them, trying to keep from cutting myself. By the end I was slightly better and I found out how to fry steak.
After that it was pretty much routine and I finally stopped looking like I “might blow in the wind” as Uncle Charles said.
I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be pleased with that or if I should be insulted.
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