In central Wyoming, it wasn’t unusual for the weather to dip to 20 degrees below zero and stay there for a week or two in midwinter. Dad would call my name and tell me to follow him to the wood pile.
“Stick out your arms,” he would say.
Then he would pile me high with wood –more than I could have grabbed on my own but not so much that I couldn’t see over the top.
Carrying stuff. It’s something I understand now that I’ve been a mom.