It was 5:30 AM and the low temperature last night was 72 degrees. The window was open and we could hear the "street washing" machine in the drone of the still air. We got out of bed and went downstairs and out the side door. As the large tank truck flushed water onto the street and towards the curb, we sat on the curbing and got splashed with cold water. We would then follow the truck for a block or two stomping in the spray.
I needed to dry out and get ready for work. As always I got my gallon thermos of cool-aid stuffed with ice cubes. The cubes would be totally melted by early afternoon. In addition I got meat sandwiches or tuna salad for a treat. Occasionally there would be a small thermos filled with hot soup but that was a rarity.
The thermos along with lunch and a wide brimmed straw hat were thrown into a huge basket on the front of my second-hand Schwinn bicycle and I'd peddle up the hill, past the train depot on my way to Stokely's local Canning Plant. A cloth covered truck with a Stokely emblem on the door would transport 15-20 of us to a farm that had contracted to supply beets. Stokely had the obligation to remove the weeds during the growing cycle. Our goal was the to flood the field with kids and remove every single obnoxious, hiding, dastardly weed.
We were told how much money we would be paid for each row we completed weeding. If there was doubt about the "row rate", they'd tell us that they would monitor the first few rows and set a rate for the day. Dah! We always went very, very, very slow until a monetary rate per row was determined and then we went like hell to make money.
Mornings were okay. Lunch usually came early like 11:00 AM during the heat of the day and we ended early at 3:00 PM. My kool-aid was always gone along with the food.
My reward was $4-$5 per day. A good week would yield $30-$40.
I did my exercise routine this morning and there was a summer heat smell along with high humidity. A strong sun was coming up and there was a soft breeze. It was August, 1952 again. There won't be any kool-aid today and a salad will have to do.
The best part of the summer is that I was a "saver". I'd end up with $300-$400 in the bank at the end of summer. My Dad always respected the fact it was my money but because he was always "broke", he got very creative in ways to get me to spend it. Who was in control here?
The next nostalgic smell will be mildew grass reminescent of getting my face shoved in it while playing football. That memory is not quite as pleasant.
Love,
Dad