She did everything without protection: weeding, mowing, raking, planting, fertilizing, weeding some more.  No hat, no gloves, and she scorned sunscreen saying it was ‘for hippie-sissies’ whatever that meant.  Her freckles stood out against her ruddy skin like buck shot and the lines around eyes were so deep that one felt they needed a rappelling system to traverse them.

Around two o’clock, she often stood with her hands on her hips surveying her wide swath of grass.  If she was in a good mood, she would tell you her only joke, “Why is a farmer the pillar of her community?”