James wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Although he was wearing leather gloves, blisters were forming on his palms as he dug with the spade, loosening a large rock from the ground. The two boys, Jonathan and Wilbur, were quiet as they kept up a blistering pace, throwing rocks into the cart as old man Winters hobbled along, leading the horse down the field. They were harvesting rocks, at least, that was what his father called it. Village folk used to make fun of the spring harvest, particularly the teens, but it was serious business, as every farmer knew. With the ground thawing during the day and freezing at night, the dirt would expand and contract, forcing rocks up through to the surface. Given the strength of the horses, any rock larger than a man's hand could damage a plow, so the rocks had to be harvested before seed could be sown. James bent down, dropping his ass so he could pick up a large rock without using his back. He lifted with his legs, driving up with his thighs, gaining a little momentum so he could hurl the rock into the back of the cart.
