Work

Farming probably won't be my lifetime career. However, for now it's pretty cool. This summer I have gotten to: pick rocks, stack hay bales, pound in fence posts, attach wire to said fence posts, drive an old truck around, mow the barnyard, dig a trench and bury wire in it, and (most recently) destroy thistles with a big piece of steel.

Thistles. Yuck. The electric fence we've been building goes through some horrendous patches of thistles about head-high and as thick as hair on a dog. Incidentally, it turns out that mosquitoes consider thistle patches to be prime real-estate, especially this time of year. Well, yesterday I was told to go thin out the thistles around the fence, so I grabbed the nearest goodly sized piece of steel rebar and went to work.

Nothing quite reminds a person of the Fall of Creation quite like an experience like that. Nature, made for our enjoyment, became an untamed force when sin entered the picture. It made me wonder, what was the original purpose of thistles? Did they exist before the Fall? What about mosquitoes? How about their original intent? I suppose I'll never know this side of eternity. Until then, I'll keep swinging my rebar; fighting entropy.

On an end note, happy birthday, America. Remember the God of your fathers.