Toughness depends on your environment
Every generation has it’s own form of toughness and much of it is the direct result of the environment in which you live. For example, those of us living today would consider my half-great-granduncle and great-grandfather to be incredibly tough because of what they endured in 1863. But the truth is that what they did was considered normal in those days.
Let’s move downstream a little bit to Mississippi in the 1905 - 1915 period. My maternal grandfather was a farmer, builder and railroad man. As a farmer, he left a lot to be desired from what my mother said. Don’t know much about his railroad activities, but apparently he was a very good builder.
When he went on building jobs, he walked...and his tools went with him. He had a carpenter’s box (which I assume he built) that all his tools were in. You’ve seen them. Long, with drawers or compartments on the bottom, an open top and a long handle at the top (basically a very thick dowel). Just the mere thought of picking up that box (and God knows what it weighed) is enough to make me weak in the knees.
My grandfather not only picked it up but carried it (for miles sometime) as he walked to whatever job he was working on that day. And of course, he repeated the process when he walked home in the evening. Now if that ain’t enough, he did all this while suffering from rhumatoid arthritis. If you’re not familiar with that particular variety, it’s the one that causes the legs to bow.
Once he got home, his day still wasn’t finished. According to my mother, he wouldn’t put his tools away til all of them had been cleaned and the blades sharpened for the next day. He must’ve been a pretty good builder because I was told that he built most of the big homes or mansions in Amory, Mississippi. Also built the school and when it burned, he built it back.
Of course, just like the cobbler who’s children had no shoes, my grandfather’s family apparently lived in a rather basic house. I got this idea from a story told about how my grandmother kept wanting a kitchen. My grandfather must’ve had an attack of goodness because he got busy and built one out in the yard, just a few feet away from the side of the house. When finished, he shoved it up against the house, connected the two and the family finally had an inside kitchen. How they cooked before then I can’t say, though most likely it was a combination of the fireplace and an outside fire.
By the way, if you’re sitting there wondering how the man shoved that kitchen up against the house, consider it more evidence that he was not only tough but strong. In those days, particularly with no inside plumbing, Saturday was the day you took a bath...unless you wanted to go swimming in a pond or jump into the nearest creek.
My grandfather would sit a #1 washtub (for those of you who don’t know what a #1 washtub is, they’re big enough for a grown man to bathe in) on the ground next to the fire. Water would be heated, then poured into the washtub and the process repeated til it was full as desired. At that point, my grandfather would pick up the tub by the handles (one on each side), hold it straight out in front of him and carry it up the steps, into the house and sit it down in front of the fireplace.
Finished with his bath, he’d pick up the washtub full of dirty water, carry it back down the steps to the outdoors and dump the water. At that point it was ready for the next person, but you can be sure he wouldn’t carry the tub for them. What they did, I don’t know. Bathed outside, I guess.
That kind of toughness and strength was considered pretty much normal in those days. Makes you wonder just how much we’ve lost, doesn’t it?
Let’s move downstream a little bit to Mississippi in the 1905 - 1915 period. My maternal grandfather was a farmer, builder and railroad man. As a farmer, he left a lot to be desired from what my mother said. Don’t know much about his railroad activities, but apparently he was a very good builder.
When he went on building jobs, he walked...and his tools went with him. He had a carpenter’s box (which I assume he built) that all his tools were in. You’ve seen them. Long, with drawers or compartments on the bottom, an open top and a long handle at the top (basically a very thick dowel). Just the mere thought of picking up that box (and God knows what it weighed) is enough to make me weak in the knees.
My grandfather not only picked it up but carried it (for miles sometime) as he walked to whatever job he was working on that day. And of course, he repeated the process when he walked home in the evening. Now if that ain’t enough, he did all this while suffering from rhumatoid arthritis. If you’re not familiar with that particular variety, it’s the one that causes the legs to bow.
Once he got home, his day still wasn’t finished. According to my mother, he wouldn’t put his tools away til all of them had been cleaned and the blades sharpened for the next day. He must’ve been a pretty good builder because I was told that he built most of the big homes or mansions in Amory, Mississippi. Also built the school and when it burned, he built it back.
Of course, just like the cobbler who’s children had no shoes, my grandfather’s family apparently lived in a rather basic house. I got this idea from a story told about how my grandmother kept wanting a kitchen. My grandfather must’ve had an attack of goodness because he got busy and built one out in the yard, just a few feet away from the side of the house. When finished, he shoved it up against the house, connected the two and the family finally had an inside kitchen. How they cooked before then I can’t say, though most likely it was a combination of the fireplace and an outside fire.
By the way, if you’re sitting there wondering how the man shoved that kitchen up against the house, consider it more evidence that he was not only tough but strong. In those days, particularly with no inside plumbing, Saturday was the day you took a bath...unless you wanted to go swimming in a pond or jump into the nearest creek.
My grandfather would sit a #1 washtub (for those of you who don’t know what a #1 washtub is, they’re big enough for a grown man to bathe in) on the ground next to the fire. Water would be heated, then poured into the washtub and the process repeated til it was full as desired. At that point, my grandfather would pick up the tub by the handles (one on each side), hold it straight out in front of him and carry it up the steps, into the house and sit it down in front of the fireplace.
Finished with his bath, he’d pick up the washtub full of dirty water, carry it back down the steps to the outdoors and dump the water. At that point it was ready for the next person, but you can be sure he wouldn’t carry the tub for them. What they did, I don’t know. Bathed outside, I guess.
That kind of toughness and strength was considered pretty much normal in those days. Makes you wonder just how much we’ve lost, doesn’t it?
posted by Relative | 7:46 PM
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