The summer after fifth grade two major events in the Daniel household precipitated what would become the most hated summer job of all time:
- The Daniel kids got a Nintendo and became wholly obsessed in a grumpy, eye-glazed kind of way with getting that princess out of the castle; and
- My little brother repeated an off color “Mexican joke” he learned from school when we drove past a field of hard-working migrant families.
Boom! Just like that, long, lazy days of sleeping in, reading too many books and doing whatever we pleased came to an abrupt halt. The next week, my brother, sister and I found ourselves getting up with our farmer dad, filling up water jugs after breakfast, and getting dumped at the end of a massive peanut field with the sole goal of hand-weeding pesky melon plants called citrons.
Let me not romanticize this for you. I am not talking about a “gentleman’s garden” — I am talking about a full-scale, commercial-production-sized peanut field. A field so big that a squat little fifth grader can’t see to the other end of it. And the citron problem was a real thing: we quickly found that there were so many that we had to scoot along on our hands and knees pulling weeds.
Oh, how we complained! We complained and complained. And so, sure enough, when we got done with the first massive field in a week or two, another field was in need of weeding. And then another. And those peanut plants grew. They grew into peanut bushes that brushed against your legs and made them itch, necessitating jeans in the hot Georgia sun. And because the sun got so hot, peanut weeding had to begin early. And early in the morning, those peanut plants were covered in dew, dew that soaked your jeans and your sneakers and your socks. The first thing we would do around 10:30 or 11 when my dad came and freed us from the field was peel off soaked shoes and socks and jeans, and then count the joyous hours until we had to get up and do it again.
Occasionally, we had some good times. My dad’s friend Charlie sometimes came out there with us “to keep an eye on us” — and he would entertain us with stories of scandalous rated R movies we weren’t allowed to see. A few times dad delivered delicious lemonade to us from my mom or my grandmother. And, after a hot up-down row, there was an undeniable joy in sticking your head under a water spigot for lovely, cool relief. But – for the most part – this job was terrible. I hated almost every single moment of it. Trust me when I tell you it sounds better than it really was.
For years, I was angry that my dad made us do that — for three summers! I hated farming. I hated dew soaked clothes. I hated the fact that I was a girl looking gross and sweaty at a stage when I was obsessed with brushing my frizzy, non-model hair 1000 times a day. I hated it so much that I found every single reason I could to make myself industrious and scarce in the summer. 4-H Camp was like a spa retreat, so I engaged in every summer 4-H activity I could. I did church camps and school activities and anything that gave the appearance of usefulness and service to others. I ran from those peanut fields like the devil himself was chasing me.
I also never again said a disparaging thing about a field worker, and I learned an important lesson about judging people with a harder row to hoe than me. I’m not going to lie and tell you I’ve never thought or said something spoiled or stupid or snobby — I’m a middle class American and have the same poison of entitlement that we all do — but, good golly, I learned some self-control about it. If I’m not willing to step into someone else’s shoes I’m careful about what I say about them, because, well, sometimes those shoes are dew-soaked and heavy and not fun at all to wear.
So – why am I reminiscing about this? To prove that I am better than you? A harder worker? Hardly (though I may have a better dad than you did – that’s pretty possible). I’m saying all of this because I am looking around America and I’m seeing:
- A whole country obsessed in a grumpy, bleary-eyed kind of way with whatever the latest technology is in their pocket; and
- A lot of people using their virtual microphones to make hot-and-judgy comments about people whose reality they would not actually want to live.
And I’m far from a prophet – so let’s just call what I am about to say an observation – but – America! To the rest of the world, you are the good farmer’s daughter, privileged in ways you cannot imagine! And, at least to the remnant that is Christian out there – you know what comes next:
Discipline.
Peanut fields.
Trading places with those you would disparage.
So listen, I can tell you that peanut fields are good for the soul, but I can also tell you that you would rather not weed them if you don’t have to. I can tell you that it is to all of our benefit to put down the devices, to put down the condescension, to pick up some empathy, and to get busy serving something greater than ourselves and our need to free the princess from the castle.
I’ll weed the peanut fields with you if I have to, but – I’d rather not.
Let’s get moving before it’s too late.
“The Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in.”
Proverbs 3:12
Mary Hulsey says
How beautifully you shared this! I remember your dad giving all of your 4th grade classmates citrons which you turned into personalities. Do you remember that? Your dad is an awesome guy, whose wisdom is passed on to you.
Melissa Daniel Lu says
I had forgotten all about that! But who needs pumpkins when you can use citrons? That was before i developed my hatred of them!
Pamela green says
Dear second cousin, you are indeed a princess. By princess I mean someone to embrace and rejoice in. Your Dad is one in a million, and you realize that. It was not easy for him to send you to the fields but he did. He did it to make you the better person that you are. God bless Hub Daniel!!!
Melissa Daniel Lu says
This makes me happy! Thank you! But, we were a little whiny so maybe we weren’t so hard to drop off!
s. lasala says
Great thoughts, greater memories. Your dad is truly a swell and blessed man.
Melissa Daniel Lu says
I thought of you when I wrote this today! Hope you are doing great!
Janna Martin says
I was a farmer’s daughter. When I was young I thought it was horrible to have to work in the fields. I had four sisters and no brothers, we worked every summer. Today I know that working taught us a lot of lessons in life. I can honestly say that I am a better person because of summer jobs.
Melissa Lu says
I thought it was so horrible too! And yes – I am very glad as an adult to have had the experience, but it was not my favorite at the time. I bet you experienced the canning plants too?
Jan says
I was a farmers daughter .The youngest of a sister and a brother. Yes, we did our fair share of working in the garden and melon fields. Working in the kitchen with mom canning and putting vegetables in the freezer, pulling corn — boy was that hot. Then gathering chicken eggs and much more. We had many fun times to swimming in the lake behind the house or going fishing. Cookouts , friends hanging out and so many other good memories. We no longer have the farm now and have not for years. I miss it so much and long for the days to go back to farm life.
Dad says
Thanks to a woderful daughter and writer.
Tiffany says
Hub D & Mike share very similar child raising techniques. I share similar stories with friends often-not of complaint but in thankfulness of the lessons learned. Thanks for sharing so many of my thoughts in words. Super thankful for determined fathers (God & the aforementioned). Truly enjoyed ❤️, Tiff
Mom says
I will have to say you were very happy campers when you came in laughing from the fields. You turned out great!
Gwen says
I’m not sure exactly where you grew up but I’m sure it was very close to my hometown of Tifton. I too am the daughter of a farmer but my story is a little different in that we weeded peanut fields because that’s what we were told to do, not as punishment, but a necessity. My parents had 3 daughters and we worked as hard as any boys including driving the tractor, working in tobacco and pulling weeds out of the peanut fields. And you didn’t dare break the weed off. Get root and all because those beggar lice will sprout back up and be that much harder to pull next time. You brought back some wonderful memories. Yes, we worked hard but we learned valuable lessons in those fields in Tift County, GA.
Hazel says
I, too, get pretty miffed when I hear people disparaging the people who do the field work and other jobs we natives think are below us. It ain’t so. Our spoiled citizenry need to understand that our wealth and leisure is a privilege our ancestors bought for us through their hard labor. Maybe it would be a good thing for us to be required to work so hard. Maybe a three-year required hands on apprenticeship for all high schoolers?
Bethie Ann Herrin says
When I was growing up, there was five of us kids, two boys and three girls. We worked hard in the tobacco fields every summer, doing everything that was required to do in raising tobacco. We also gardened, helped canned vegetables, had hog killings and chicken plucking’s. All this was required to eat and live when I was growing up. We had a very good child hood and I wouldn’t chance it for anything,