Labor, Labour, Labre

You like that title? It's in honor of Tony, Toni, Tone although much like the third Tone with the accent over the "e", I don't think that the third spelling of labor is a widely recognized one. 

Wait, no this post was supposed to be in honor of Labor Day. That's right. I mean, "labor" is in the title of the blog and is the bane of my existence and it's Labor Day, and in the absence of actually having a job (also labor related), I figured I had plenty of time to reflect on the meanings of labor. It was all triggered last week when I was at the dentist's office (using up my last chance at affordable health care since my insurance expires at the end of the month- also labor related), and my chatty hygienist went into a long shpiel about how Labor Day got its name. She explained that back when New York City was just a lot of open land, the children stayed home from school to help their parents prep for the fall harvest so Labor Day was actually day of working the fields, planting, and crap. I couldn't find any actual proof to back this up as historically accurate, but it certainly sounds like a reasonable story so I chose to believe it. 

I really enjoyed her story because it made me feel good to know that there were children out suffering out on their farms, breaking their backs, much like I will in just a few minutes. (Tim is literally reading this over my shoulder and trying to rush me. What? You are!) Although we won't be planting stuff, but I will be doing a lot of hard labor which brings me to the latest recap. 

Yesterday we put up all those steel cross beam thingees. 

I believe they are called girders. The process basically entails lifting those beams off the ground and up over onto the platform. From there, we load them onto that blue machine, and then lift them up into the air and line them up over the little pieces they fit into, then bolt them in. It's a lot harder than I just made that sound and the fact that our little ragtag team did an entire row yesterday is sort of impressive, especially when you're considering how weak I am and how old Tim's Dad is (haha, I love you Dean). 

As you can see in this photo, the real foreman is Zelda. Seriously, she never leaves Tim's side. It's almost sort of sad. We have 24 acres of land for her to run around on but she just sits there, doting. Anyway, I am literally getting yelled at right now so I have to go. We have a lot of pole thingees to put up.