It’s been a busy summer with not much chance to take another walk through the woods. I did write this 100-word tribute to a friend who was born to a mining family.

“Smile, Grandma!”

“Get that thing outen my face.”

“C’mon. All your grandkids want to see you.”

“I’m still livin’ in the same house.”

“Most can’t afford to travel so far.”

“Shouldn’t’ve left the place they were born, then. Nothing wrong with it.”

“Except there’s no jobs.”

“Plenty of jobs. Just lazy people who don’t want to work.”

Meredith sighed. “We can’t all work the mines, Granny.”

“Good enough for your grandpap.”

“Who died from Black Lung, remember?”

“Balderdash. Old fart wouldn’t stop smokin’ cigars his whole life.”

“Forget it, Merry,” said Thomas. “Some old dogs you can’t teach anything.”

Most soul-crushing jobs kill you early. Coal mining takes its time.