I've been around farming all my life. My Dad's a farmer, and one who didn't think twice about giving a hard, dirty job to a girl, either. No quarter there. And my husband's a farmer. He has more mercy on me than my Dad did, but still. I'm no stranger to farm-related chores.
The other evening, my husband was loading seed. Now, seed is very expensive. People will steal it, and rain will ruin it, so he keeps it locked up in the shop until he's ready to plant it. Then, each evening he loads down the trailer with the seed he'll need the next day and backs his loaded trailer into the shop, closing the door down as far as it will go to protect the seed.
I sat there, on top of one of the pyramids of seed sacks he'd already loaded, watching him move two 50 pound bags at a time from a pallet in the shop onto the trailer. He was dripping sweat; I was rather comfortable, sitting there enjoying the view and the nice evening breeze.
As I am wont to do, I started thinking. "I wonder," I mused aloud, "how much of my life I've spent sitting on sacks of seed?"
Without missing a beat, my husband replied, "A lot more time than you've spent loading them."