Note:  This is another piece I wrote for Alive Utah.  I found today, Father's Day to be a fitting day to repeat this story.  Happy Father's Day dad... I love you!

   

It was a beautiful summer day and the flowers were in full blossom while the sun shone happily. Driving down historic Cedar City Main Street, I was a little taken back when I saw her on her four wheeler with her high tech watering mechanisms. Perhaps, to many she went without notice. However, not to me. The sight took me back many years when my two sisters and I were the main street watering girls.

My dear father proudly came marching into our home on 2nd East one evening and announced that he had found a summer job for my sisters and I. I, of course, was eager because in those days I was what you might call an entrepreneur — a new job could become a step above my door to door selling antics of rocks, flowers, and “I like Ike” pins, and I knew that money meant shopping, cute clothes, and summer candy at Cowley Drug. However, I am not sure I was quite ready for this responsibility.

My father, or “Jake” as we affectionately called him, described to us in simple details our job and our wages. We were to arise every morning at six, except on Sundays and water the flowers and trees on Main Street. Now in those days Main Street was not of the artistic nature that it is today, but nonetheless there were still many flowers and trees that needed to be watered. And we were to do it all by hand. By hand, meaning bucket style. Our payment would be $75 each for the entire summer.

I recall bits and pieces of this “experience.” I remember my father rummaging around for the buckets. My favorite one was a simple tin bucket; some of the others were missing handles. And I can still see the pliers in my father’s hand. The pliers were a key tool for our watering job. Dad would access the water at the faucet of each business residence and then we would carry the water from the faucet to the trees and flowers in front of each business. Now when you are ten a bucket in each hand is quite a feat. A balancing act actually. But I did it. My favorite flowers to water were in front of Bulloch and Cowley Drug. Each drug store had a beautiful planter with a built in bench. I remember using the bench once or twice. I also loved the one in front of Cowley Drug because the old rock fountain used to sit there. The water was welcoming on a hot summer morning.

We would start on Main Street at the Old Post Office and go all the way down the east side and then cross over to the west side all the way back to what was then JC Penny and then walk home. Simple right? Every morning at 6 o’clock?

I don’t remember staying up late many nights that summer enjoying the traditional night games. I don’t remember fighting with my sisters or complaining much. Maybe dad could tell a different story. But I do remember dad always being the first one up and I remember how careful I was with those $75.

This past Saturday, we spent the entire day from sun up to sun down with our “fabulous five” working in our yard and at our family’s little car wash. For the most part, it was a pleasant day, but it is work to teach your children to work. However, they do have their impersonations of me down to a “T” as they mimic my instruction process. I laugh with them because they do a great job impersonating me. We accomplished a lot. I tried not lose my patience partly because I remembered my dad never complaining about our summer Main Street watering experience. Growing up, my father never had money in his wallet. I am sure he did not take any “cut” from our summer watering adventure.

When the next summer rolled around after my water girl experience, Dad said he had been approached about watering the flowers on Main Street again. I remember the three of us in unison saying we would rather not. So today the picture of “her” watering the Main Street flowers makes me smile as I drive by remembering my own summer adventure as a “Main Street water girl.” While she may have all the right equipment and she does look “cooler” on her four wheeler than I did with my buckets, I feel a little sorry for the little girl out there who doesn’t get the “moment” with her dad, her tin bucket, and a pair of pliers.