It’s harvest time – the gathering of fruits. The farmers push, push, push. Work harder. Work longer.
We go as long as the weather holds.
I remember riding in the jump seat of my grandfather’s combine as a little girl. The corn stalks dropped before the combine’s corn header. The freed cobs bounced around the head then disappeared into the machine. The rhythm hypnotized. The grain tank filled. Suddenly golden kernels poured from the grain auger into the grain cart. Dust and sunshine mixed. Fall beauty.
When I was 14 my family moved to Florida. Farm trips happened during summer vacation or Christmas. Harvest faded into a cherished memory.
We go as long as the weather holds.
I don’t remember when I first heard the phrase. It slipped into my consciousness. As newlyweds, Kirk used it to explain the harvest work ethic on his parent’s farm. This year I heard it a lot as he set expectations for the long hours he would work.
This fall – my first harvest – I began to understand, though not fully, what it means to go “as long as the weather holds.”
The ideal weather is dry and calm. Rain slows things. Muddy fields bog down equipment. Harvest pauses until fields dry. High winds or an early wet snow also cause problems. Both knock over cornstalks making it harder to pick. Lots of ears end up left behind in the field. Time is of the essence. The year’s profit is on the line.
Crops must dry to a certain moisture content before picking. Ideally, corn is picked at 15.5% moisture. Any wetter and corn molds in the grain bins unless drying fans are used. Fans mean electricity. Electricity adds to the cost. If corn stays in the field past that point, it continues to dry out. Less moisture means lighter kernels. When you sell your product by weight, every ounce counts.
Weather is unpredictable. Forecasts give the farmer a decent idea how well the weather will cooperate for the next two or three days, maybe even the next week. But harvest is a season, lasting a month or two depending on the size of the farm. There is no guarantee that it will stay dry or calm the whole time. Bad weather delays the end of harvest. The crops need to be brought in before winter arrives. The survival of the farm depends on a successful harvest.
We go as long as the weather holds.
Practically, what does this mean for me? For my family? I’m not the one out in the fields. I’m the one holding down the home front.
“Just wait until harvest.” Friends warned me that things would be crazy and hard. Plans wait because harvest doesn’t. The machines run whenever they are able. Friends also encouraged me not to despair. Harvest is a season. It will come to an end.
Harvest started the last week of August. They pushed hard for the next eight weeks, picking as soon as the sun dried the morning dew off the plants and continuing into the evening.
The weather held. There was one rain in September that kept the combine out of the field for a day or two. Otherwise, it was dry.
Occasionally, breakdowns allowed Kirk to come home early. He showed up at the church dinner after the wheel rim broke on the tractor. The kids cheered. “Daddy’s here!” I secretly rejoiced. I knew he was wondering how long it would take to fix. Everything stops until the machine is repaired.
One evening, I raided my freezer for leftovers, gathered the kids, and headed to the farm. The kids wanted to ride along. They needed daddy. Kirk welcomed hot food. Sandwiches only go so far. I grew up hearing my grandmother’s stories about carrying supper to the fields. Now I was doing it in a very last-minute, 21st century sort of way. I felt like a real farm wife that night.
Kirk and I share family and home responsibilities. During those eight weeks I kept everything functioning. I missed his help. Some mornings he needed to haul soybeans into the plant first thing. I said goodbye before the sun rose. Many evenings his chair sat empty at the dinner table. Several times Kirk worked 16 hours, pulling into our driveway around eleven.
By week eight, I was done. Exhaustion set in. Could I keep up this pace? I like routine. The kids thrive on it. We struggle to be flexible. This season requires flexibility. I thought I might crumble.
And then the season ended. We slipped back into our normal routines. We made plans. And Daddy joined us for dinner.
