The Rural Voice, 1991-10, Page 86
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4 THE RURAL VOICE
WHO WOULD NOTICE
IF I WENT ON STRIKE?
Gisele Ireland is from Bruce County.
Her most recent book, Brace Yourself,
is available for $7 from Bumps Books,
Teeswater, Ontario, NOG 2S0.
The main topic of discussion lately
with most people, farmers included,
has been strikes. The postal union has
again finished their tantrum, and the
civil servants have lined up to take a
crack at it too. Postal strikes used to
strike terror in the hearts of the public.
Not any more. We furrow our brows
in irritation and switch over to plan
"B "
As most discussions go, this par-
ticular one went into a world of "what
ifs." "How come," I was asked by an
urban group member, "farmers have
never gone on strike. They've certain-
ly got enough reasons, especially right
now?"
I didn't need to think long for an
answer. "Because," I replied, "it
would almost be like me announcing
to my family that I'm on strike.
Who'd notice?"
There was a time though, both in
my farming and motherhood careers,
that had I announced such an inten-
tion, people would have felt the eff-
ects and paid attention.
After years of working not beside
Super Wrench, but miles apart from
him, he's actually become semi-inde-
pendent. He won't starve by himself,
he can find certain things in the house
all on his own, and what he can't mas-
ter, his kids help him with.
There was a time, though, when
there were two barns full of animals,
fields full of crops, and children in
various stages of development, when
he would have been reduced to quiver-
ing jelly at the mention of "going on
strike" from my lips. Believe me, I
took advantage of those few fleeting
years when I actually had some pow-
er. When Super Wrench put on the
mule act, and I really differed with his
opinion or action, I went for the sore
spots. Usually refusing to go near the
ironing or mending basket would
suffice. If not, I would take the lid off
the diaper pail and tell him there's
only three clean ones left. This man-
oeuvre would get me most requests,
but the one that won hands down was
threatening to leave him with all four
kids for several days. Especially when
two of them were in diapers.
The holy little terrors I threatened
him with just a few short years ago are
now Super Wrench's biggest allies.
They keep me around for several reas-
ons. My chassis is in pretty good
shape, just minor rust spots, every-
thing still works reasonably well.
With the right incentive, I can still
perform. They know darn well if they
traded me in, there's nothing in it for
them. I'm of the vintage that they
can't even get replacement parts for
me.
The two kids who are independent
of home wouldn't notice if I failed to
perform my duties. The two at home
would just step around their placard
carrying mother and do it themselves.
In fact, when I leave the house now,
it's my son who tells me to drive
carefully and to check the gas gauge.
My daughter knows in what direction
my memory cells have gone and she
automatically puts whatever I have to
take with me, whether it is mail, dry
cleaning, or empty pop bottles, right
in my path as I go out the door. That
saves on gas as I always have to come
back for something if she doesn't.
Even if I had the clout to make a
strike impressionable on anyone, I
don't know what I'd go for. The
second bathroom, an issue for years
around here, is no longer needed. I
can have our car any time I want, the
kids certainly don't want it. Theirs are
newer and all the doors open. Luxur-
ious vacations, matching dinnerware,
and ankle thick carpets no longer hold
the fascination for me they once did.
Neither does the idea of marrying a
rich farmer. They exist only on the
pages of books by Hans Christian
Anderson.0