WWOOFing in Italy: Time is Money...or Is It?

12 April 2011

It is 23:45, and I just spent forty-five minutes handsewing a hole in the butt of my work pants. Not a hole from a narly accident: these pants are so worn in that it takes little more than a strong wind to put holes in them. They were hand-me-downs from my neighbor at least eight years ago, they sat in my closet untouched for four, and I found them by chance the day before leaving for Asia two years ago. Turns out, that while they are not particularly fashionable, they make perfect work pants: linen, white and down to the ankles, good for strong sun and conservative cultures. After significant wear in Asia, they continued down the work path for last year's farming in Israel and now farming in Italy (and when you travel with only two pair of pants, they get sufficiently more wear than a pair of pants is used to). So a hole after all that? I think most would agree that these pants have merited the time spent to fix one hole.

Eight holes, however, is debatable. A month ago, I spent forty-five minutes sewing a seven inch hole on the other side of the butt: they are parallel, twin tears (precious! I suppose the one became lonely and beconned the second one on). There are at least four other one-inch plus holes, ten if we’re counting holes of any size. During the forty five-minutes that I spent fixing one of the holes, an eleven year old in China could have produced seven pair of potential replacement pants, probably at the cost to me of less than $20. Considering the two hours I would need to work with my last job's wage to make up that cost; considering the spectacle that I am with dirty, holey white pants with two big patches on the butt made of a non-matching fabric and green thread; considering that it is only a matter of days before more holes show up in new places in these terribly old pants making my hard repair work in vain; considering all of these factors, perhaps I should throw the towel in and buy new pants. Right?

NO!

“Time is Money” is one of the worst maxims to come out of our culture. Time is appreciating life! I appreciate life more in my holey pants because I played part in making them. They have part of my story in them; not like the factory produced pants at some store that will be identical to thousands of other pairs.