Harvest of Years Past

Another year, another harvest. Hopefully it was a good crop year. Watching combine operators unload wheat into trucks, I’m reminded of harvests of years ago. Now, so many farms are five and six times bigger than when we farmed. At that time it wasn’t very often you saw anyone but family working the land. Everyone pitched in to clean out the grain bins to get ready for the new crop coming in. The largest bin we had held 7,500 bushels of grain. Looking at that bin after it was built I was struck by the thought of how big it was. And hoping our harvest was so good it wouldn’t be a problem filling it.

All through the summer I’d watch the sky, checking the clouds, praying the rain would arrive at the best time for grain and we wouldn’t lose our year’s work to hail and high winds.

Suddenly, it seemed, it was time for harvest. In late 1972, we purchased a brand new two-ton truck. It was the largest truck we had. We had two other trucks -- named the Big Jimmy (GMC) and the Little Jimmy. All three were pressed into service to haul the grain from the field to the bins and in the winter, to the elevators.

My father-in-law was quite impressed with our new truck. However, his hearing was poor so you could always tell when he was driving it because he would rev the motor quite loudly when getting ready to pull out of the field. That first year for the truck, he told his wife, “That’s quite a truck the kids bought. I can pull out of the field in second gear with 400 bushels of wheat on it.” Late that fall we had to replace the clutch.

As each of our children reached the age of at least four, they would go to the field with their grandfather. He had the most unique pocket watch, according to the children. At various times throughout the day, he would hold the watch to their ear and ask what the watch was saying. It might say “Banana time,” or “Cookie time,” or “Straw time.” So he and his grandchild would each have a banana or cookie or cucumber fresh from the garden, perhaps an apple. Straw time meant Grandpa would cut off a stalk of wheat and turn it into a straw for them to use to have a drink of water.

One thing the children did not take part in was when the watch said “Chew time,” which meant Grandpa would take a pinch of his chewing tobacco.

If Mother Nature called, Grandpa would help the grandchild hide under the truck to answer. Many days nap time was in the truck. After a while spent with Grandpa in the truck, it was time to return home to Mom and whatever new adventure awaited them.

Each one of our children has their favorite memories of harvest time with Grandpa and for that I’ll be forever grateful. Those memories are special, unique, and irreplaceable. There simply is no substitute for time spent with family. Our children’s roots were deepened and strengthened because of time spent with their grandfather in the truck at harvest.

He would tell them stories and answer their questions. Though he could be gruff at times, he always had time for his grandchildren. He taught them many lessons without their realizing it.

Harvest time -- hours of hard work, frustration at times, dealing with unexpected problems, prayers the weather will hold until the grain is in the bins -- but above all, thankfulness for all its blessings and memories.