“Many handes make lyght warke…”
-John Heywood, 1562
Most people when they show up to work in the morning are expected to at least look somewhat presentable – a suit and tie maybe, perhaps some lipstick, and generally at the very least, showered. But being a Pilgrim is dirty, grimy work – all those “career casual” clothes I have from previous jobs are now mostly gathering dust in the far reaches of my closet, and when I try to put on mascara these days I usually stab myself in the eye because I’ve mostly forgotten how to do it (Let’s not even talk about trying to walk in high heels).
One quickly loses one’s vanity when every work day regularly presents so many dirty hazards, whether it’s cooking, gardening, caring for animals, woodworking or any other number of unforeseen circumstances. And while we may come home at the end of the day covered in dirt and smelling like smoke or pitch, we also get the satisfaction of knowing that we accomplished something with our own hands, a feeling that’s getting rarer and rarer in this day and age.
So over the years I’ve documented the life of a Pilgrim through a few of the sundry ways my hands have been cut, dirtied, and yes, even dyed hot pink. Sure, it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it:
Now can someone pass the soap?