Every time I read a book about pioneer times, I end up impressed with how difficult life was for our ancestors. And how easy so many things are for us. And how much we take for granted. The diaries or journals of pioneer women especially intrigue me.
I was grumbling to myself as I sat down at my computer tonight about all of the paper that seems to end up stacked on my desk. Often it's something I need to file, or maybe a piece of paper with a phone number or an internet or email address. Or a receipt that I don't want to shred until I have seen and cross-checked it on my bank statement. Then I thought about a book I had been reading where the woman had written back to her parents on the same piece of paper that they had written a letter to her on (she turned it sideways and wrote across the sentences that were already there.), as she had no new paper of her own...
We flick a switch and turn on our electric heaters and warm the motor coach nicely. Then I read about people chopping wood for days, or digging brown lignite coal from surface veins in Colorado or picking up coal spilled from the rail cars along the railroad tracks in West Virginia. Hours of work to ensure winter warmth.
I warmed corn in the microwave tonight that I hadn't planted, harvested and preserved. I grilled hamburgers that I hadn't raised, slaughtered, ground or froze. I made a salad from cabbage, avocados, peppers and artichoke hearts that I hadn't raised. When I'm tempted to whine or complain, I guess it's good for me to stop and think how lucky I am that I'm not a pioneer!
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