Just Shut Up And Eat or I Am A Prisonor Of Family Tradition

When workers came to the farm, you fed them.
You fed them a hot sit-down lunch (we called it dinner) and you fed them an afternoon snack about 4 o'clockish (we called that lunch) and you made sure they had access to water, maybe in one of those big jugs with a spigot.
Mainly, since 'the men' (my dad and his brother) did darn near everything themselves, the workers I remember feeding most vividly were grain bin assemblers. We were 12 miles from town. How would they know to bring their own lunch? We just fed them without asking. It was just something you did if you were us.
So I do my best and bring food to 'the guys' working on the timber frame for the house. Pop. Junk food. Whatever I can find that looks different from what I got them yesterday. Something salty. Something sweet. And ice for the cooler. Some days, beef sticks or cheese curds (it is Wisconsin, after all).
And they act like it is some kinda big deal. Like they never got fed by a customer before. They should just shut up and eat. They said thanks the first day and that was enough. They should just shut up and eat! I said that twice now.
I mean, God forbid I should be telling my mom about the project and how I hung around watching for the past 9 days minus 2 for rain and she should ask "What did you feed them?" and I should say "Nothing."
Imagine!
She would be dismayed that perhaps she 'didn't bring me up right'. It will be embarrassing enough to admit that I only took them gas-station convenience-store food instead of home-cooked, but, well, hey, the kitchen isn't built yet!