So my mother.... a woman who invited the sport hunters with no real taste for anything other than tenderloin, to dump their carcasses on her doorstep and allow her sons to carve them up, slice roasts where roasts remained, and mince the rest in a hand grinder.... all destined for deep freeze... was a financial idiot?
And the 2 plus middle high school years I sprawled my lanky legs in an asparagus picker 5 plus hours a day each night, and took home minimum wage, albeit in adult cash rates, but snared all the tough shoots not worthy of sale to the botique restaurants?
Or how about the neighbour across the way, with his 25 acres of black, golden, and tart cherries.... as well as plums, peaches, apples, and pears? Our families went way back, and the favour was always ready to be returned to them at a seconds notice. Usually with an odd beer at the local.