Labor for Grain

“Quit daydreaming and let’s get chores done before Papa catches us idle,” Regenard’s brother, Marellus, urged. Caught in a daydream, Regenard jumped slightly and then shifted his attention back to his duties. The sight of the huge blades turning lazily in the breeze never failed to mesmerize him.

Regenard supposed the windmills eased their labor, but he could never completely agree with the theory. He recalled a day not long ago when a visitor had arrived on horseback, carrying a scroll with drawings, which he displayed to all the men at a town meeting. The stranger had described how the drawings had been meticulously copied and passed around, having been brought from the east by crusaders. Upon careful perusal of the sketches, they had reached a consensus to build such a contraption, called a “windmill,” in their village.

“Garçon,” the elder called, “gather the other boys to turn the blades!” Regenard and his brother dropped their milk pails and raced to the windmill. It was true, since they had built the monstrosity, they no longer needed as many horses to turn the mills and grind grain. It seemed, however, that there was no end of other work created by this labor-saving device.

Occasionally, a shaft would need replacing. Or a mill stone would slip, which required every able-bodied man in the village, it seemed, to shove it back in place. Grunting, Regenard worked alongside the others to turn the windmill so the massive wood sails could catch the wind. “Mind your head!” His brother nimbly ducked under the swinging blade, but Regenard didn’t move quickly enough, and he was knocked senseless. “Oh,” he moaned, holding the lump on his forehead. Marellus produced a damp cloth, pressing it to the tender area. Strong arms then lifted him and carried him home. “Well,” Marellus teased, as Regenard was laid on his cot, “that’s one way to get out of carrying grain sacks today.”