Tis the season… for bookwork

A farmer’s job is never done, not really. Yes, there are those cynics that exist in the world that joke that a farmer is only busy during planting and harvest.  It’s like saying teachers get a three month vacation for their year’s salary. Clearly, I don’t agree with either of those. Of course, people are entitled to their assumptions, non-factual based knowledge and generally ill-conceived jokes and perceptions of truth. Truth. Farmers work hard with long days. Want to complain about your 40-hour work week? I’ll give you some advice. Don’t cry about it on the shoulder of a farmer. Farmers help feed the world, yet people like to throw farmers under the bus for air pollution, water runoff pollution, the noise, the smell, you name it, etc. Yet, somehow farmers are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Yes, there is that ONE grouchy old farmer but hey, there are grouchy old people in general, it’s not limited only to one profession. However, I’ll save the rest of my opening, middle and closing arguments on this rant for another day. 

It is, however, the season for bookwork. Yeah there are farmers out in the field somewhere in the world; especially if you’re south of the equator and your seasons are opposite of the current frozen tundra motif that’s currently decorating my surrounding landscape. Of course, there’s still the general repairs going on in the shop but the down and dirt-y (ha), nose to the grindstone work waits till spring. Who doesn’t love bookwork? I find it to be therapeutic. It speaks to my soul or more to my 'Type A, uber organized, labeled, filed, i’s dotted and t’s crossed' penchant for ‘neatness.’ 

My husband has a love/hate relationship with this facet about me. Love, for the main reason that he doesn’t have to do bookwork. Hate, well, there’s a tendency of paperwork to be hidden or left in ‘unusual’ places (pockets) or tossed into the, ahem, incorrectly labeled pile for said bookwork. This upsets the keeper of the bookwork (me). He doesn’t always understand my fastidiousness for proper to-be-filed-or-accounted-for placement of paperwork which leads to consternation and general male conclusions of how he doesn’t understand women. Of which, I think, that a lot of men would agree with my hubby. I try to understand this male thinking and make it easier and less trap-like for him by telling him to place all papers in ‘x’ spot and let my fussy self properly take care of it later. Of course, I’ll admit this effort fails on my part occasionally and the fastidious bookkeeper in me forgets to take that hat off for the day and gets a little naggy about paperwork. The mirror doesn’t lie, sadly, and my sane self is ashamed and apologetic and vows to try harder next time (to not be so crazy and nitpicky). 

I’ll admit that during the working season, I hope for cloudy or rainy days so that I have the excuse to do bookwork. Maybe it’s to catch up on bookwork too but mostly because I enjoy it. Weird? Quite possibly.