I love-hate this homestead-hobby of ours. I love that the kids have to work it. I love that it gives us lots of syrup and that Gabe can sell some of the fruit of his labours. But it's sooty. It's sticky. It's dirty. It's late. It's kind of ridiculous.
But it is fun. And it reminds me that as much as I recreate lovely illusions about a previous age when a family was a working unit and lived on the fruit of their physical labours, you know, Ma and Pa and Laura and Baby Carrie and Mary.... the standard little house on the prairie narrative... I am thankful that we live on Jason's brain not his brawn, (even if I do like his brawn quite a bit).
The boys, and Essy, are able to sling sap buckets and split wood, but they will not have to rely on their bodies alone to eat and live. And so this thin line between the blessings of physical labour and intellectual labour gets talked about at dinner, when everyone is too tired to study for a chemistry test or a theory exam. And stuff has slipped, for sure.
I want, more than anything, to raise sturdy adults. I want them to be hard and willing workers. I pray that they "work as onto the Lord." Col 3:23. I want them to learn to do all they have to do anyway, without "grumbling or arguing so that you may be blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine a lights in the world as you hold firmly to the word of life." Phil 2:16 AMEN. So may it be.
|Jason watching the play offs while apparently watching the sap. ya.|