Sixty year old women trying to build a shed by themselves was not something you saw very often, certainly not out in these parts.
“Let the lads do it, Miss Alice,” he pleaded once more.
“O dear me, they are doing an awful lot. They have done all the loading and unloading. We girls can manage a few nails here and there.”
Pastor Michelle watched her bent over the log with the plane tool. Those slender hands were certainly not fit for such grunge work. But the women were as stubborn as they were determined.
“Lets hope there is no sudden gust of wind!” joked Miss Jane, precariously balancing the cups upon the poles.
“It feels a little odd to stand right beside your papa’s grave sipping tea.”
Alice and Jane heard their papa’s voice in their head as clear as if it were just today. Women of good breeding don’t go around attempting a man’s work. They imagined his expression if he ever saw them outdoors in these pants, covered with sawdust, dripping with sweat.
“It’s not the tea he’s going to be minding,” Alice guffawed as the sisters broke into peals of rebellious laughter.
In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of August 27th based on a photo by Dawn Miller