Sharpen your Hoe


It was blistering hot—something I still hadn’t acclimatized to in the Eastern Washington summertime. But there were 100 rows of strawberry plants that were 300 feet long that needed be weeded. That was something else I hadn’t adapted too—hard labor.

I didn’t mind the work, it’s just that I wasn’t as adept at eliminating small weeds before they grew, seemingly overnight, into far bigger weeds. No one told me weeds grew so fast. Sweat was rolling down my back, and I stretched to take a break from my hunched-over hoeing.




I saw a truck spinning dust from its wheels coming up the road. Conward, my father-in-law, stopped near where I was working. He got out and lowered his tailgate. He brought out some water that he’d put into recycled glass bottles. That was his signature style: reuse.


We sat on the tailgate sipping water and he asked to see my hoe. He pulled out a metal file and went to work sharpening my hoe. I never knew hoes even needed sharpening. The things you don’t learn in college.


The rhythmic sounds of file on metal were paired with Conward’s words, “If you take time to sharpen your hoe each morning, it’ll make it easier to sharpen next time and hoeing is a whole lot easier too.” Made sense to me.


Then he continued, “Same with us. If we start our day with sharp minds, it’s easier to weed our thoughts. Some thoughts aren’t worth letting grow.”


Conward selling strawberries 1982



Sharper hoe. Sharper mind. I went back to work with both. This was the beginning of many more talks we’d share over the decades to come. 


I miss his wisdom, born of a deep faith in God, and a thoughtful grace he extended to everyone he met. His wisdom went far beyond knowing how to sharpen my hoe, he routinely sharpened my mind. 


Happy Father’s Day to all those who have the opportunity to share their wisdom and offer grace to those around them. We certainly need it. 





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