This is the last week of school before summer vacation for our grandchildren near us. Our grandson in South Carolina has a different schedule. He has been on vacation for a couple of weeks, and he returns to school in the fall earlier than our grandchildren here in Washington. Our oldest grandchild turned 14 in February. His age brings me memories of my teen years. The summer I turned 14 was the first summer I had a job away from home. I worked for my uncle and cousin on their farms for a few weeks that year, preparing for and working the harvest. I had been paid for jobs in my father’s business in the years before that, and I had earned money mowing lawns and delivering newspapers, but at 14, there were a few weeks when I worked full-time. I stayed at the ranch, and each morning after breakfast, I went to work and worked through the day until dinner. We didn’t count hours. I was paid by the day. I drove a tractor cultivating weeds in their dryland farming operation. They raised wheat in strips, keeping the ground between strips fallow so the ground would retain moisture for the next year when the strips would be reversed and last year’s wheat fields lay fallow, and this year’s fallow fields were planted. The practice has since changed with different crop rotations and no-till farming practices. Then, when the barley and wheat were ripe, everyone on the farm worked in the harvest until the grain was in the bins. Harvest days were long.

We got everything greased, fueled, and ready to cut as soon as the dew was off the grain and the moisture was right. We’d usually get to the field by 7 am and be running by 8. Then the combines would run until dark, between 8 and 9 pm. Meals were brought to us in the field, and we’d eat in shifts to keep the combines and trucks running. I usually drove a field haul truck. The combines emptied into my truck on the go, without stopping. That meant matching the combine speed and keeping the distance between the truck and combine just right. When my truck was full, I drove to the bins and emptied it into an elevator that took the grain to the top of the bins. Then I returned to the field. We usually ran two trucks per combine. My cousin and uncle worked together in harvest, generally two combines and three or four trucks, depending on how far the field was from the bins.

It has been nearly 60 years, and I don’t remember the job as a burden. I can remember being tired. When I returned to the farmhouse, I was often first in line for the shower because I was the youngest. I could shower and be asleep in bed in less than 15 minutes. I did that job two summers before moving on to other summer jobs. The fun thing about my summer farm jobs was that I got paid after harvest, just like the rest of the family. That meant I had no money all summer, though all my food and housing expenses were covered. Then, after harvest, I got a single check for the entire summer. From a 14- or 15-year-old perspective, I was instantly rich. The check went into my bank account, but I made a few purchases before school started in the fall.

Our 14-year-old grandson got his first bank account this year, depositing his paycheck for a week of serving as a page in the state House of Representatives. Of course, times have changed. I had a passbook that I took to the bank to withdraw cash, usually $5 or $10 at a time. I made about the same amount in a summer as he made in a week. And he doesn’t have a passbook. He has a plastic debit card that he can use to make purchases. He has very specific rules about purchases, and the use of the card is closely monitored by his parents, who can access his bank records online. This is necessary because the card enables him to make online purchases. I couldn’t have imagined such when I was his age.

He does not have a summer job, so his income is limited. He will get a few days’ pay when the hay is cut. Last summer was his first summer bucking bales. He’s still too short to toss bales onto the trailer, so his job is driving the pickup pulling the trailer around the field from bale to bale while older teens toss and stack the bales. When they get to the barn, he climbs up and stacks bales in the lift with the others, and takes his turn feeding bales onto the elevator from the trailer.

Like him, I wasn’t yet old enough for a driver’s license, so my driving was confined to the field and the road between the fields and the farmyard. He’s not yet driven on a road. That’ll come in a couple of years. However, I could ride my bike nearly everywhere I wanted. Our grandchildren’s farm is on a busy road. They are limited to the farmyard or need an adult with a vehicle to drive their bikes to town or trails where they can ride.

I’m back to my teenage level of activity on my bike. I live where I can bike nearly anywhere I want to go in a 20-mile radius from our house. I have to avoid the roads with no shoulder where the traffic goes fast. I ride to the farm, but it is 2.7 miles when I drive. Taking the back roads on my bike, it is 7.2 miles to the farm. I am retired, so I ride my bike to the farm several times weekly. Other days, I ride along the beach or to the grocery store or other places. It reminds me of the summers before I started working on the farm. I’m back to not having a summer job, so I get to ride my bike every day. Freedom is sweet.

I was lucky. I had jobs I enjoyed for all of my life. I didn’t mind going to work. Still, it is kind of sweet to get up, eat my breakfast, and go for a bike ride. Some days I ride for 20 or 30 miles before breakfast. It’s my choice. Life is good.