The Wood Cutter's Daughters

A lesson in work ethic and gratitude.

• Short story

								
The Wood Cutters Daughters 

As we turned onto the dusty familiar road early one morning, dread filled my heart as I knew it would be another hot, grueling day of hard labor. 
It wasn't so much the carrying of wood, but the relentless scorching of the sun, and the swarms of mosquitoes that taunted us. As we struggled to carry each log, the constant perspiration doused any trace of bug-repellant and the ability to swat the pesky bugs away. 
Our hard-working father, Saturday after Saturday, assured us that "the harder we worked, the quicker we would be able to quit". And we were so grateful each time quitting time arrived.
With such anticipation, we would stack the last log into the old Ford, for we knew it would not be long before we would be enjoying a clear, sparkling glass of cold water.
This quickly became the highlight of our day as this satisfying moment was not just any ordinary glass of water. You see, just before the turnoff to our home, we would stop a the spring-fed well to fill five-gallon pails.
You might wonder how this was a treat when it entailed such endurance of a hard day's work. every last drop was tantalizing, to say the least. I could feel the water dance over the top of our tongues as we scooped it up with our very own personal cups- our little arched hands served us well. 
I used to think this trip in nature, which we call Turkey Trail, was my father's form of punishment. However, now as I look back on these early Saturday mornings, I have no regret for the work ethic our father instilled in us. 
Not even the memories of the constant swarming of these pesky bugs stand out. Rather, joy bubbles to the surface when I recall working alongside my Dad and how we would relish the moments together beside the well-lit fire on a cold winter night that comes to mind first.
Certainly, enjoying the constant visits to the spring fell well in celebration of our work is what stands out most- to this day, fresh-cut sawdust brings me back to this place of gratitude; where work and reward met.
This truly is one of my fondest childhood memories.

Dedicated to my Dad; Jean-Guy
 
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