My First Eight Rows

There’s a certain stillness to the fall season that motions us to pause and marvel at the changing landscape. Listen to the rustling of the leaves. Breathe in the crisp autumn air.

But for farmers, fall moves at a much faster pace. During harvest, everything is done in a hurry. It’s a race against Mother Nature to get the grain in the bin and fieldwork completed before the first frost, and in some years, the first snowfall.

As fleeting as harvest may be, I have always tried to find the time to spend a few fall days on the farm. And this year was no different.

Heading Home for Harvest

Eager to help my family in the fields, I set out for home – a flat stretch of land where you can see the choreographed chaos of neighboring combines, tractors and semis from miles away.

At first, my trip didn’t go as planned. We were short a tractor for me to spend my days making rounds chopping corn stalks – a mindless activity that I happily volunteer for because it requires little skill level and is near impossible to mess up.

Fortunately, I found other ways to make myself useful and remain entertained.

I picked pumpkins and cleaned out sections of the garden. I cared for a pair of orphaned kittens found in the barn. I saddled up my horse, Dakota, and roamed around the empty corn and soybean fields.

I even, upon request, took the time to spruce up the center of my parent’s circle driveway and my brother’s front porch with some of our homegrown fall decorations, complete with homemade scarecrows.

I also spent quality time catching up with my family – riding to town with my brother in the semi and keeping my parents company in the buddy seats of the grain cart or combine.

At one point, my Dad thanked me for coming home to help. I admitted I wasn’t sure how useful I was in the grand scheme of things aside from the occasional rides I had given and the meals I helped make.

That’s when he came to the conclusion this would be the year I would learn to run the combine.

Graduating to Combine Captain

On Sunday, my parents were due to go to town to help serve at the annual turkey supper hosted by our parish.

I was hesitant whether slowing operations down to teach me how to combine was a valuable use of time, but Mom and Dad agreed a running combine was better than halting all of our equipment to a standstill for a few hours.

I had gotten a taste of my first eight rows in the combine the previous year when I was home puppy-sitting my brother’s six-week-old golden retriever, and asked my Dad if I could give it a try in the last pass of standing corn at our home field.

This year I would learn a little more and graduate to an official combine captain capable of making passes in the field on my own.

Passing Down a Tradition

Farming may not be my full-time job, but in my family, traditions aren’t just passed down from father to son, they’re also shared between mother and daughter.

For the past 25-plus years, my Mom has heroically earned the title of “master combine driver” trading a full week of work as a dental hygienist each season to help with corn harvest.

When I asked her how old she was when she first sat in the driver’s seat, I was surprised to learn she was about the same age as I am now. I smiled at the thought of experiencing that same rite of passage with my Mom beside me.

She was an excellent teacher, and before long, I was navigating my way across the field, unloading into wagons and learning how to cut into sections to avoid hazards, like the tile intake.

All of my family members were encouraging and patient as I got the hang of it. When my parents left for town, I managed to keep corn harvest moving while my brother hauled loads from here to there.

Only after I left my shift to return home that Sunday evening did I learn I slightly overshot the semi on one of my unloading attempts. According to my parents and brother “everyone spills”, so I was glad they afforded me that same mistake on my maiden voyage across the golden sea of corn stalks.

To all the combine drivers, grain cart captains, gofers and sideline supporters, I wish a safe and happy harvest, and I look forward to my next eight rows…or who knows, maybe next year, an entire field!