Weeding the corn field

[2011-06-13 02:36:22] Helen stands before the tall stands of corn, and her brow knits with concern as she casts an eye over the field. “The weeds, all those weeds, they will overrun the corn that we so badly need.” she exclaims.

[2011-06-13 02:42:42] Helen spits on her hands and rubs them together, just like she saw her father do when she was a little girl back on earth before he had a hard task to do. Helen picks up the spade and moves to the end of the first row. She balances on her tight foot, the left of the edge of the spade and shoves her weight down. The spade sinks into the soil, she lifts and turns it, with ease. “This isn’t going to be too bad after all.”
[2011-06-13 02:43:16] Helen: right foot, the left on the edge*

[2011-06-13 02:48:01] Helen builds up a rhythmic movement, as she makes her way down the corn row; shove, lift, turn, drop, step, shove, lift, turn, drop, step. On and on she worked, and it was not until she reached the end of the row and stood up straight to turn did she feel her back complain. “Ouch.” she uttered. And she arched her back, relieving the muscle strain, her shoulders back, her tummy forward, her hips back, and held the pose for a few seconds. Helen was not used to this hard manual labour.

[2011-06-13 02:53:02] Helen went up and down the rows, methodically working away, progressing from left to right across the corn field. Now, not only did her back hurt, but her hands, her poor soft hands stung as she gripped the handle of the spade. Blisters! Oh, how will these hands give pleasure again? Blistered, calloused hands are not what she needs. Nevertheless, she did not stray from the task. These weeds have to go, and she carried on with determination.

[2011-06-13 02:57:08] Helen completed the digging, tapped the dirt free from the face of the spade and returned it to lean against the fence where she found it. The field looked good, the rich soil turned, the roots of the corn not disturbed, but now free of the nutrient sapping weeds. All that was needed now was a scarecrow, but hen again, had she seen crows here on Landa, or Gor, for that matter? And with that thought, of scarecrows, she went back to the kennels, sore but satisfied.

by Helen, HoY slave

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