"TAKE YOUR WIFE TO WORK" DAY

I wasn’t really sure why Mike asked me to head out to the fields with him. He arrived home from the mail route a bit earlier than I had planned. Maybe he could tell that I had been crying. Some people cry with dignity. However, my eyes swell, my nose explodes into a red bulbous nosrtilage, my face gets all blotchy…not a stretch to call me Bozo. So the clues were not subtle… more like a tornado siren in bad weather. I shared my “Auntie Anna” news and with the harvest ready to begin, he didn’t have a lot of time to console me. Instead, he asked if I’d come out and help him.

Farmers suffer from PHS (pre harvest syndrome). Mike probably has a milder case than most…but it’s quite obvious that the jitters set in. Symptoms of PHS: they get cranky, short-tempered (he was perturbed when I was "laughing too loud” at an email the other night); they either eat everything in sight and then some (we should buy stock in Planters and Mars) or want nothing at all because there’s no time and so much to do (even if it’s already prepared…grrr); by 3AM the bed becomes a trampoline (tossing and turning and tossing and turning, because they can’t sleep); describing them as “edgy” is an understatement. So I answered the invitation with reservation and trepidation…but when he said he “needed” me to help, I changed my clothes, turned off the grill (hungry, but no time) and then snarfed down some cheese and crackers, managing to force feed him as we drove out to the field.

Not having grown up on the farm, my exposure to the “ag” world over the years has been limited. I’ve hauled grain to town with the truck, but never had the opportunity to drive a tractor after my first lesson, which resulted in an expensive chiropractor bill. I’ve walked beans and have hoed down my share of weeds. I’ve assisted with transporting equipment. My current duties consist of “meals on wheels”, and I am “on call” to travel the state to fetch parts for repairs upon machinery breakdowns. So when I climbed into the combine, I was a bit overwhelmed. That’s one big piece of machinery…with lots of knobs, buttons, pedals and gauges! A short preview or explanation might have been helpful, but PHS guidelines don’t allow that, I guess. “Push the 2 yellow buttons” (when there were 3) was not my idea of a precise instruction. So the next half hour was spent with me sitting in the combine, while Mike jumped in and out, pressing buttons, greasing chains, raising and lowering things, opening and closing chutes and doors. So my first half hour consisted of warming a seat…which made me feel even more important when Mike said what he really needed was somebody to weigh down the cab………hmmmmmm.

I let that comment roll off my back. There we were…just the two of us…seated next to each other…huddled in the combine. “This is fun!” I thought. He was covered with dirt and grease…me in my bibbers…how romantic!! Start the engine…start the reel…start the auger …test the chute. It felt like we were bouncing over the back roads on a 4-wheeler and we weren’t even moving yet!! “Let ‘er roll,” I quipped…with a reply glare from my honey. Mike settled into the “cockpit” and like gliding down the runway we were readying ourselves for “take-off” through the field.

And harvest ’08 had begun. I was anxious for my next assignment, as the first one was kind of a dud. I mistakenly thought, since we were no longer in the “pre” stage, that the PHS symptoms would rapidly subside. So I thought we could play a game of 20 questions…which abruptly ended at 2. “So, there’s 3 pedals down there. (question #1): “What are they for?” I asked. “Stop, stop and park” he answered, as he continued to press buttons, make adjustments, check gauges, center the machine, watch the guides…he looked like a bobble doll. I pondered the answer. I really wasn’t trying to get under his skin…really. After a few moments, I queried (question #2): “ I don’t get it…so one pedal stops the machine…and the other pedal stops it some more??!” I could almost feel the daggers emanating from his eyes through mine…could have hung me on a bulletin board and used my face as a notepad! OK, so we weren’t in a conversational mood yet. I could wait…I had to wait.

We drove around the section…and again. I watched…observed…and I think I earned a gold star for keeping my mouth shut. I stared a little too long at the auger in front…should have gulped a few Dramamine before take off. I didn’t want to wimp out with a dizzy complaint, so I focused on the landscape. What a beautiful sight with all the fall colors!! I patiently waited for my next assignment. With each turn, there was more fine tuning, until finally we were just humming along. He grabbed a handful of beans to taste…and smiled. And I could feel the weight melt off Mike’s shoulders.

He started to talk…and talk…and talk. He explained the buttons…the knobs…the gauges. The right pedal stops the right side; the left pedal stops the left side…that allows a zero turn radius (now I know!!). He explained how the front reel turns and grabs and combs the beans into the auger, which rolls in the opposite direction. He has to center the machine over the red dot on the reel…he has to watch the dirt along side because it could be a sign that something is off balance…he has to watch for rocks…and uneven feeding…temperature settings…adjust speed to the moisture content to the beans. He has to keep an eye on the hopper to minimize fuel used to get to the unloading wagons. He has to listen for odd sounds that could warn against equipment failure. He checks the mirrors to make sure the blower is pushing the debris far enough out the back, otherwise there could be a fire…and I thought I was good at multitasking!! It’s a constant eyeball game and being off guard just a couple seconds could be disastrous. After all the weeks of weather events, planting, replanting…too much rain…too little rain; all the preparation and maintenance of the tractors, augers, combine, wagons, bins…it all boils down to these next few weeks. And until you actually get out there to see, hear, taste, touch and smell …well, like he said, “You just don’t know”. That’s a lot to shoulder.


When it was all said and done, the crop looked good…real good; the first day went well. I never did get another “assignment”. We just chatted.

I felt quite privileged to be there with him. How many women actually get a chance to see what their husbands do to put food on the table and a roof over their heads? Farming is not just a job though, it’s a life style. Nature has a way of bringing you closer to God.

I’m so grateful to be blest with a husband that works so hard. Early in our marriage, he held down 3 jobs just to make ends meet, so that I could be home with the boys. That was important to both of us. But what I’m even more grateful for is a husband who knew that he really didn’t need me out there to help him, but knew that he really needed to be there to help me. And just being with him helped a whole lot. May God keep him safe this harvest season.