Golden Rivers And Times
A golden river is beginning to flow from combines into grain trucks. Harvest is getting underway. Time is of the essence to gather the bountiful crops.
It was the last day of a great harvest. A couple more loads and all the bins would be filled.
Returning to the house at 10 p.m., we were beat. Walking into the entry, we noticed a sheet had been tacked across the door to a kitchen that was not very well lit. I had gone back to the house between loads to fix a quick supper for our children. Before I headed out the door, I told them to be sure and get to bed by 8 since they had school the next day.
As I started towards the kitchen door, one of our sons and one of our daughters came out to the entry and said as soon as we washed up we had to close our eyes and take their hands. In answer to why we were told just to do as they said.
They led us to our chairs at the table, then told us we could open our eyes. Our four children had set the table, complete with a lace tablecloth, four candles, and flowers. As I sat in astonishment, a fresh green salad was set before each of us, followed by a plate of spaghetti covered in marinara sauce, slices of garlic bread, and glasses of cold lemonade.
Standing back from the table, our oldest daughter said there was a plate of freshly baked brownies on the counter for when we were through with our meal.
“What is this all about?” I asked.
“Mom and Dad,” one of our daughters said, “We know how hard you two have worked to plant the wheat and bring in the harvest. We appreciate how well you take care of us. So we thought we’d take this way to say thank you for all you do. Now, enjoy your supper. We are going to bed.”
And with that, they lit the candles, switched off the kitchen light, and went to their rooms.
It was quite a few minutes before either my husband or I could see the table because of our tears.
Finally my husband said, “Quite a crew we have.”
Harvest is not just physically gathering what has been planted. Harvest is also reaping all that comes along in our lives as a result of the good we’ve planted along the way.
That night we had harvested far, far more than the wheat in the fields. We had harvested love.
Sandy Laumeyer is The Courier's Nashua correspondent.