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Show 46 I spent a good deal of time looking back to see how far I had come, then looking ahead into infinity to see how far there was still left to go. The rows were forty rods long, an acre of them. A rod, I learned later, is sixteen and one-half feet. Measured the long way, on tender knees, it lengthens to many times the original. Seven hundred and twenty feet make quite a little jaunt just walking. It would take most of June to thin this and five additional acres of twentyrod rows. We all wore "Conference Gloves, " so-named because the farmers stocked up when they went to April Conference in Salt Lake City. They were actually plain canvas gloves, and my Mickey Mouse gloves encompassed my hands like a "sock on a chicken's lip, " according to Mama. The gloves protected for a time our fingers from beet juice, which eventually soaked through, stiffened the canvas, and eroded our tender skin into cracks into which the dirt and juice entered. Our fingers grew black-green which wouldn't wash off. Our knees grew hot and swollen, felt as if they would rupture. At this point, however, I used my sitting apparatus more than I did my crawling technique. When the other thinners came near I would have a little burst of speed, thinking vainly that I could keep up with them. The morning wore on interminably until the sun was straight overhead. Papa didn't carry a watch, too easy to lose, but when our shadows pointed straight north it was time for lunch. Papa fixed a little fire |