Today, I helped Robby and Matthew install a stockade fence in Weston at Polly’s house. I never would have taken the job without them; I’m so far beyond digging in New England soil, and this fence needed eight holes, each better than a foot and half deep. The first hole, Matthew’s introduction to what the glacier left behind, took an hour to dig.

With Matt grumbling, and temps in the nineties, I decided an incentive was needed. I offered ten dollars an hour, but only if the job was finished today. I remembered it took Bill and me almost a day to install half the number of sections at Henry’s. I also knew Polly had already bought spruce instead of cedar, and wouldn’t want to pay us for another partial day.

That prompted Matthew to ask, “So dad, if you can pay us that much, how much are you making for this job?” I half lied, “I don’t know yet, I haven’t billed Polly.”

I drove to Home Depot to hide from the heat and to buy concrete to fill our holes and when I returned, the boys were digging furiously. Four holes complete and another four well into the strata of rocks. That’s when Matt greeted me with, “Dad, we’ve decided to cut you out.”

There you have it. The blue collar workers with white collar instincts, passed right by forming a union, straight to a hostile takeover.

Boys drenched with sweat. For a better view of their excellent creation click on the photo.