Child Labor

I believe in child labor.

I am a farm girl, the oldest of five, and I have always had a fervent commitment to equal rights (even as a young girl), which meant that I had to work right along with the the men (and boys) on the farm. That commitment, I am sure, came from the reality that in our home, there was no distinction between women's work and men's work. Chores were a constant need, ever incomplete, and when they needed to be done, we all had to do them--regardless of age or gender.

One chore that everyone disliked was de-beaking turkeys. When poults were a couple of weeks old, their top beaks had to be partially removed for future protection: turkeys have a tendency to peck each other violently as they grow, to the point of death, so debeaking is a preventative and protective measure. Turkeys also subscribe to herd mentality, so when one starts pecking something, its peers join in. We needed a big crew to debeak thousands of turkeys in a single session, so my grandpa and uncles and cousins came to help. The smaller kids herded turkeys into small pens and then the debeaking crew stepped in and snipped beaks (using dog nail clippers) while the penning crew got another group ready. It was all perfectly orchestrated for maximum efficiency.

I was pretty proud when I advanced from the herding crew to the debeaking crew. My first time, though, I was a little reticent. The turkeys squirmed, the clamping down of the clippers required force as the material and shape of the beak resisted, the beaks bled, and the turkeys stumbled around dazed and confused when we set them down. I was also nervous because I had been warned repeatedly about the importance of cutting in exactly the right spot: a millimeter too short and the turkey's breathing would be stifled; a millimeter too long and it could still be used as a weapon, defying the purpose. Grandpa, the patriarch, took it upon himself to inspect each team member's accuracy, and he was not shy about pointing out error.

I got pretty fast (because I got plenty of practice) and I ended up hiring myself out to other farmers. My goal was always to be as fast and accurate as my mother, who held the title of most proficient debeaker.

Another farm chore that had to be done was feed transportation. We had an enormous ten-ton bulk truck, and when turkeys were large, we often needed to haul more than one load a day. My mom and dad didn't get off work until 5:00 pm, it took a half hour to get to the feed mill, and the feed company closed at 6:00 pm, which made it difficult for them to get and unload what they needed, especially when they needed more than one load. The minute I could legally drive, I was seen as a solution. They would send my sister and me for a load of feed after school.

I could reach the pedals if I stood, resting only about an inch of my behind on the seat. The gear shifter was as long as my leg and it required the strength of both my arms and most of my back to shift gears. The steering wheel, also enormous, required my full strength to move. Kelly provided coaching, moral support, and two extra arms for shifting as I fought with all my might to drive that beast.

My friends often laughed when they passed us. They joked at school that I was standing on the seat steering the beast while Kelly sat on the floor working the pedals. We truly were tackling a job that was physically bigger than the both of us.

While I remember complaining about how hard I had to work (a lot), I'm certain no child labor laws were violated.  I'm also certain that my mantra, "no job is too large," was nurtured in those turkey sheds and on the road behind the wheel of that big bulk truck.