As the crimson colors of the autumn sunset faded in the western sky, James Wagler stood quietly beside his small white frame house, looking over the field before him. He was tired from the day's work – very tired, – but, somehow it was a pleasant feeling of tiredness.
As the cooling shadows of dust deepened over the little farm in southern Ontario, James was thinking of the work he had been doing all day in handling tomatoes. Harvest was a busy season at the Wagler farm and a time of hard work. Five acres would yield tons of tomatoes, but James felt grateful that so far he had been able to hire enough pickers to help him; some years workers were hard to get.
James' quiet meditation was interrupted by his wife calling for supper. "Yes," answered James quickly. "I'll be right in." He entered the house; while he washed, his wife hurried to get the two little boys seated in their places at the table.
"How did the picking go today?" she asked as she opened the faucet to fill a glass of water for the boys.
"Just fine. We had fifty more hampers tonight than I figured we would. The two girls are dependable in coming. They do well too, except today I noticed they were using spoons to remove the stems from the tomatoes. Naturally this slows them down."
"I don't blame them for using spoons," Mrs. Wagler said. "I remember how sore my thumbs used to become from removing stems. I haven't picked much this year, but I suppose the stems still come off as hard as ever."
