April 7, 2024

By Arthur H. Gunther III


     An old saying, full of truth as always, proclaims that there’s no such thing as women’s work on a farm. There’s just work. Or women’s work is never done.

Though March 8, International Women’s Day, has gone, whatever women do, and that’s everything, continues.

     A shout-out, of course, from an often haphazard male who can’t find his socks in older age, same as when he was six. My mother was there in the latter, as well as in both the workplace and kitchen, also in the nourishing and affection.

     Many of our teachers, female and male, became lifelong instructors, yet in key moments recalled, it seems the greatest lessons came from the women, who carried the torch as the baton was passed from home to school.

      And then there were the girlfriends who noted deficiencies of all sorts, males oblivious to dress, manner, manners and maturity. We guys didn’t always pay attention, mostly not. Should have.

     In wartime, with men away, women not only worked the farm but the factory. They did anything a male could do and often better since women pay attention to detail.

     This piece isn’t meant to put women on a pedestal, for female faults are there, of course. No one is perfect. But it must be written, even a month out from International Women’s Day, that the gender which births humanity knows how the garden must be tilled, a lifelong intuition.

     Hail women.

     The writer is a retired newspaperman.