To my family,
I love the ocean life! I wanted to write you a note before you start to fear that I’m crawling through dirt and evading gunshots. I’d rather do this than work on the farm if this is the “hardship” they told us about.
First, tell the boys that they are working ten times harder for old man Jenkins than I am here. They get up before dawn to milk cows and trudge through the mud, but we “sleep in” until 5 a.m., which is an hour later than rooster time back home. In the morning, we have to fold our blankets perfectly and polish our boots. You don’t have to carry feed sacks, suffer splinters from mending fence posts in the rain, or run after pigs that have gone away through the orchard.
Now let’s talk about the food. It’s better than what I’m used to—small boxes of cereal, juice in little cups, and bread that comes already sliced—but I’ll be honest: I miss Ma’s biscuits and gravy. You won’t find any sausage, thick-cut bacon, or even a fried egg with a broken yolk. But I’ve learned a few tricks. I sit next to the people who drink a lot of coffee and can’t finish their trays because they’re too jittery. I assist them pick up their leftovers. Don’t squander anything, okay?
When it comes to the physical stuff, “grueling marches” is an understatement. Most of these city guys fall over halfway through what I would call a warm-up stroll to the south pasture. A man tripped over his shoelaces and had to sit out for the day. I struggled to hold back my laughs. By the time most of these guys were done with their stretches, we would have already done half of our morning chores.
The police aren’t that bad. The sergeants do most of the yelling, although it’s more like barking than biting. The captains stand tall with their hands on their hips. The top brass travel around in jeeps like parade marshals, pointing at things and sometimes giving a thumbs up. I think I’m safe because no one has used a whip yet.
You might be astonished to know that I’m the best shooter in my group! They taught me how to use a rifle and now I’m the best shot in the bunch. firing with paper targets is like firing at the side of a barn after years of chasing rabbits that sprint and hop through the brush. And what’s even better? They already create the bullets for us! You don’t have to load shells by hand, spill powder, or pour lead. Just aim and shot.
When you battle with your hands, things get a little more exciting. Most of these new recruits are wimpy, city-bred kids who get hurt quickly and are afraid of tackling. A sneeze would probably knock them over. But there is a man from a nearby county who has a very remarkable body. He has a lot of muscle and weights twice as much as any cow I’ve tried to catch. I was able to flip him once, but that was just by coincidence. But now, my main goal is to not be flattened. When you wrestle that guy, it’s like trying to tie a bull up with a shoestring.
I think I’ve done a good job overall. You don’t have to shovel manure, your clothes are clean, you eat regular meals, and your fingers don’t get frostbite. Tell the brothers to sign up now before the bosses realize how good of a deal they’re offering us. Soon, the other farmhands will find out, and the barracks will be full of individuals who want to trade pitchforks for firearms.
Love, your son in uniform
