The excitement of the new

When I was around 14, I got my first job. Or, I should say I got my first job were I was paid--you know with taxes, FICA and stuff. My mom was a hog unit manager, and her employer paid me to help out. For most of my youth, hog unit exposure was a given. Those less-than-sweet smelling places, where one was required to shower before entering and leaving. It seemed ironic that one had to clean up before going into a pigsty.

More and more, the units of old are closing down. The one I used worked at has been torn down. The one we used to live at is now a Hutterite colony. And most (if not all) the units from here to Howard are abandoned. Perhaps, that’s the way it goes… At one time, smaller-based hog units were a newfangled exciting business opportunity. And, the model has faded. Not sure how. Or what’s taken over. I’m guessing huge outfits. I haven’t kept up. Plus, I haven’t stepped near one in years, let alone in one.


Back when I worked at the unit near Winfred, one my primary jobs was power-washing the farrowing crates. When sows gave birth, they needed pristine living quarters. My mother wouldn’t allow the floors to even have a speck of muck. When I first ‘got’ to do the job, I was like, ‘Whoa, I actually get to blast things with this contraption that could supposedly cut off your toe if you have it at the right setting.’ Once I got the hose, I let it loose. Manure flew, some off it even hit the fans. For about the first half an hour, I was one of the Ghostbusters. And, the crap was any ghost of my imagination. Yes… Every great, new phase is so often a epic adventure.

After a spell (a short spell), I was a soaked, miserable kid covered in pig crap. ‘I see why she wanted me to do this now.’ Trudging on, I continued to clean as the hours dragged like election season. I did not even open my mouth to mutter to myself, for enough filth had already worked its way in. The job was my duty (he he). It was my life. It was my prison. (Being a hint dramatic, for metaphorical purposes.)

And as it goes, almost anything seems exciting (or at least tolerable) when we first start it, but with certain duties, as we become caked in filth and the venture becomes labor, the appeal wears. Still to this day, I do the same. I get so excited about a venture, but lose zeal as time passes. However, I also have the tendency to look down at someone who actually has a job in his or her desired field but complains about it. ‘What’s wrong with you, do you know how many people would love to have your job?’

So it goes. We get older. Fewer grand life events or milestones come our way. And, life is messy. Those milestone fail to satisfy. In turn, our attention turns to those in our lives who may be going through their own key moments. Or, perhaps we start (or should) looking elsewhere altogether, for zeal, for passion.

Maybe, that’s the way it ought to be.