A Thing Of Unexpected Beauty

In the middle of town, beside the main highway, a new slab of concrete glistens in the morning sun. At least fifteen men stand around it, hands resting on hips and admire their handiwork. They are dirty, all of them, with cement spatters on their clothes and boots covered in gray slush. They don’t gather in groups to talk or tell jokes, smoke or drink coffee. They just stand, looking down at the mirror-smooth surface and breathe pride and achievement.

The men are tired. They had a long morning already. Their work began when most of us were still sleeping. Much of it took place even the day before, when they prepared the site and built the temporary pour form.

The sound of a concrete truck has no equal. How exciting to listen to the heavy drum churn and the rocks clank against its insides! The world holds its breath. Something is about to happen. Once the arm swings out over the waiting form and concrete begins to pour, the workers launch into frantic activity. Bravely, they step into the treacherous goo, uncaring that their feet might bog down and become permanent fixtures. They spread the mass with confidence; bring it to a marginal smoothness, ready for finishing. The surfacing tool packs the rocks down and leaves the surface miraculously glossy and flawless. Like a quiet pond it gleams and sparkles in the early light.

Pouring concrete requires speed and precision. These men are well aware of their skill. They stand beside their slab, satisfied that they moved several tons of fast-drying material and froze it into a perfect, solid block. They will still need to knock away the wooden form, once the concrete is completely dry, but for now, they take time to watch and admire.

There is something fascinating about men and their relationship with hard labor. From my experience, most of them don’t really mind, although they may lament their aches and pains. There is an unspoken connection between them as they tackle a common task, confronting dirt, sweat and discomfort with bold determination. Perhaps they secretly challenge one another, as none of them dare lose face before their peers. Perhaps they merely enjoy the familiar feel of hard working muscles warming to the chore.

In comparison, few women venture into the world of crew labor. More likely, we face solitary drudgery in yards and households. Many of us never experience the solidarity of a concrete crew, cemented together by jointly conquered adversities and shared success. And we may not feel the satisfaction of a craftsmanship that few are willing or able to attempt, or of an excellence no outsider can hope to accomplish.    

While the men at the construction site are likely in daily competition over skill, strength and endurance, for a while their hearts beat in unison, as they rest from their efforts. The polished, shimmering slab reflects their camaraderie and professional competence. Its lasting strength honors their team spirit. In its perfection it is truly a thing of beauty.