Susan hard at work in the strawberry patch.

By Susan Shanklin

Tom was hoeing the carrots next to the strawberry patch that I was laboring in and he says, “You sure grunt a lot.”

You know, that’s really not what I wanted to hear as I was straddling strawberry plants and trying to blow mosquitoes from my face while bending over dressed in ball cap, long socks, long pants, and Tom’s retired long sleeve preaching shirt in the hot sun. Do you hear me?

I thought for a few silly seconds deciding how to respond.

My first thought was to smack him. Second thought was to throw my precious container of strawberries at him and my third thought was to say, “Well, you would grunt too if you were bending over and picking these strawberries!”

“Oh, oh,” he says, I wasn’t being critical. I was just saying, ‘You grunt a lot.’”

“Whatever…” me thinks.

Truth be known I am a grunter. I know it’s not attractive and lady-like, but I am a grunter.

I don’t know, it just seems to help to get the job done.

I would rather grunt and move than sit on my derriere, which is (as you may know) is French for behind.

Tasks are set before us that we may not like to do, but they must be done, because nobody else is going to do them for you. So suck up some air and move.

Oh, still a little testy I see. Ha ha.

It’s far better to work with a vision for the future and a desire to see it through.

I started that strawberry patch with 25 plants. I watered, weeded and Tom fertilized. Bigger and bigger the patch grew. Bigger the patch, bigger the yield. Bigger the yield, bigger the grunt.

The bigger the grunt, the bigger the satisfaction.

I now have 14 gallons of strawberries in the freezer and one measured mushed bag for winter jam making, and I figure I have a good week of grunts left.

Bring it on, patch!