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The lawyer gave us leather gloves, but the blisters on our fingers still split with blood boils across the palm of our hands between the fingers gripping the wooden neck of the axe. Most boys couldn’t do the job for a single five day week. The other young teenagers retreated after two days to return home to sit in front of the TV as their mother served lunch that consisted of warm bowls of chicken noodle soup. I remember this, because the momma’s boys would brag and complain in unison later when school began after Christmas by saying, “I hated eating that brown bag lunch they gave us. I had chicken soup at home.” I never heard the term “brown bag” lunch before. The boys must have learned the term to describe the food from their mothers. Mothers that protected their sons from progress. The boys I chopped cords with ate lunch out of brown paper bags, There is no way I recall the taste, but the bags consist of an apple with bread and cheese or bread and meat. The lunch couldn’t be called a sandwich, it wasn’t. The bag was simply enough to keep us working next to jugs of cold water that we washed the bread down with.