As the calendar turned to September, the countryside transformed and harvest season began. Gold crept into the fields, sewing a patchwork of green and yellow. Then the green disappeared and the fields turned golden brown. The sunflowers vanished, replaced by a yellow flower whose name I have yet to learn.
Homeschooling started in August while summer clutched the land. Six weeks later, fall arrived and it was time for a break. Years ago, I learned we needed to pause for a reset in our school year. We stop our lessons for one week. This change lets me work on other things – projects that are hard to focus on during school days. The kids relish the free time.
I timed our break strategically. The combine should be picking soybeans, and this would give the kids extra time to ride along. They counted on it. Our farm hadn’t started harvesting beans as we put our books away. Other farms started picking. Monday arrived, but our beans were too green. Tuesday went by. Then Wednesday. Suddenly, the kids realized their plight.
“Mom! You said we could ride along, and our break is almost over!!!”
Did I say that? Or did I say I was hoping it would work? I don’t remember. Either way, I had implied it, and they felt I was breaking a promise. Twelve years into this parenting gig, I have yet to master the Don’t-Ever-Imply-Something-I-Can’t-Control skill.
***
Farming seasons are predictable. Spring brings soil prep and planting. Summertime means irrigation and pest control. Late summer, we chop silage. Then comes soybean and corn harvest in the fall. And, we move calves from ranchland to the feedlot. When winter arrives, it is time to fix things.
In contrast, actual farming is unpredictable. A hot, windy week dries the crops, and, suddenly, it is time to harvest. Rain makes fields soggy. Equipment breaks, making repairs the priority. And sometimes, the beans aren’t ready.
I used to say I was spontaneous and flexible – thriving in the spur of the moment. But since becoming a mother, I realize I am not so flexible. The kids thrive on routine, and their mama does too. As a farm wife and mother, our lives are both routine and unpredictable. How long until I learn to adjust expectations? How do I help my kids manage? We need grace to walk this road.
***
On Thursday I packed up the kids and headed to the farm. The bright afternoon sun shone. Our Random Songs For Random Road Trips playlist filled the car. The kids chattered in the background as we drove down the highway.
“Look! They have a Kenzie grain cart!”
The kids became farm equipment connoisseurs after moving almost two years ago. They know the brands. They know the uses. And they have opinions. I agree with them. This giant blue grain cart looks impressive with its tracks instead of wheels.
We turned onto the highway leading to the farm. Two pickups, a semi with a grain trailer, and the tractor pulling the Kenzie grain cart waited nearby. A combine crawled across the field collecting soybeans, a massive plume of brown dust trailed behind.
Farther down the road, a field lies bare, the corn chopped for silage.
We crossed the Elkhorn River and drove up the river bluff. The trees showed a hint of turning. We passed the apple orchard and turned onto a gravel road.
I parked next to the shop, and the kids tumbled out, eager to check on the kittens and to help Daddy. Middle and Little grabbed brooms to sweep the shop. Big headed off to clean stock tanks. I do not understand her love of this job, but every chance she gets, she volunteers.
***
Friday afternoon I received the call and an hour later two happy boys climbed into the combine to ride with their daddy. They arrived home that evening with twinkling eyes and dusty cheeks. Break week ended exactly as we had hoped.
