Agriculture

When friends tell me I’m too old to be going up on ladders, I resist. When the storm windows have swelled over the summer with basement moisture, barely fitting in the window frames, I persist. Yet finally, when I reach the last two upstairs windows, and the 20 lb. storms get stuck sliding into place, and I begin feeling insecure jiggling them free and adjusting them atop the extension ladder, I desist. Resist, persist, desist. The progression of age. I must concede the limitations of my 70 years. If I were still in need of confirmation, it came when I realized that neither of the handymen I would immediately consider calling, both younger than me, were men I would feel comfortable asking to go up on an extension ladder to complete the task. I must now search out a younger, stronger, more agile person, the right man to take on the short but precarious project. I do not yet shy away from physical labor. I was pleased to keep up with the pace of two considerably younger men as two hay ricks worth of