HARVEST TIME

This week The Osceola Times, NEA Town Courier and our sponsors are paying a special tribute to area farmers and the harvest season. As a farmer’s daughter, I have the upmost respect for those men and women who work around the clock bringing in the harvest. I remember those days well.

At the age of four or five, it was my job to help mom drive the bean truck to the gin in Minturn. We would wait in line what seemed like forever, until it was our turn to unload the beans. If I was lucky mom would let me go into the store, located next to the gin, and buy a coke. Nothing ever tasted better.

I must admit the cotton harvest was my favorite. Now, don’t get me wrong, pulling a cotton sack down one row after another and pricking your fingers until they bled was not fun. However, you have to remember I was the baby of the family, the youngest of 10. I might have been a little spoiled. When I got tired, mom would let me go lay in the cotton wagon. For all of you young folks out there who are used to seeing big rows of cotton wrapped in giant yellow plastic sitting all over the fields, this was the 1960s. We picked cotton in a sack, weighed it on a pair of hand scales, and then dumped it in a big wagon. Once the wagon was full of cotton, mom and I would take it to the cotton gin. In the mean time, there was nothing so great as jumping up and down on the big fluffy bed of cotton. I would jump and giggle until I fell down with exhaustion. Oh, and then I would just gaze into the big sky, full of beautiful white clouds, and dream of someday being a famous writer. Inevitably, my brother Roger would eventually fill his sack and bring it to the wagon to be weighed; and you guessed it! He would jump in the wagon and disturb my peace … attempting to bury me alive under the cotton.

Another great thing I remember about harvest was the big barrels of ice cold water sitting at the end of the field with a metal dipper. That water was so cold I would pour it all over my head. My mom would yell to stop wasting the water and take some to my dad and siblings. When I handed Roger the water, I would always stick my tongue out at him and then run away. He and I are still the best of friends to this day. Lol

It was during harvest that I baked my very first cake all by myself. My brother William wanted a strawberry shortcake, but mom was too busy. So, one day I decided to give it a try. I had walked to the house to put lunch on the table. My mom had cooked it early that morning. I think, how hard can this be? I gather the flour, eggs, milk etc. and set to work. It didn’t seem too hard. I was pretty sure mom melted the butter before she added it to the cake batter. So, I dump a big cup full in a skillet and light the stove with a match. Was it ready when it melted or did it need to brown? Brown sounded reasonable. I cooked that butter until it filled the kitchen with smoke. I had seen that happen before… no big deal. I add the butter to the batter, pour it in a floured pan, and place it in the oven. Thirty minutes later, it looked and smelled good. I added the strawberries on top and waited for my accumulates. My brother would be so happy! And, he was… until he tasted it! Oh well, lesson learned. Those pigs ate every last bite of it.

It was also during harvest season when we experienced one of the worse storms I ever remember. It was a Saturday. Everyone was in the field working and, looking into the sky, dad said, “A cloud is coming up. Sandra, you run on to the house.” I looked at the black clouds rolling in and ran as fast as I could. By the time I reached home, the sky had opened up buckets of rain and there was debris blowing everywhere. I headed straight for the storm cellar. I wrestled with the heavy door and finally pulled it open. I ran down the scary steps and lit the coal oil lamp. Then I raced back to close the door, but it was too heavy. I knew everyone else would be there soon, so I left it open and sat down on the cellar’s dirt floor. But no one came and the cellar was filling with water. I climbed to the stop of the stairs and screamed for help. Little did I know my family was gathered under a wagon. Well, almost everyone. Soon, I saw my dad run through the storm. He pushed me down the stairs and closed the door. I had never been so glad to see him in my life.

The very best thing about harvest season came afterward, once dad was paid for the crops. There would be money for new clothes and shoes … well, usually. I’ll never forget the one year when the yields were not too great and things were tight. I seriously wanted a new coat for the winter, but there was no extra cash in the budget. Mom sadly told me I would just have to wear my old one, even though it no longer fit. My brother Jack, with his big soft heart, took a job driving the tractor for a neighbor at night… turning the dirt over for the next planting season. At the end of the week, he took me shopping and bought me a blue velvet coat with white fur around the collar and sleeves. Man, was I styling. I will never forget what he did for me… In fact, he has spent most of his life taking care of his little sister.

The one thing I do not remember about harvest is the burning fields. My dad raised cotton and soybeans. He did not burn fields. Last week, I expressed my feelings about the smoke which makes it hard to breathe. A couple of my farmer friends gave me a call and proceeded to educate me on the practice of field burning. Apparently, it is actually better for the environment than the alternative. Letting the rice straw rot naturally emits methane gas which is worse for the environment. Burning rice fields is actually a proven green method. Th rice buyers with green sustainability clauses in their contracts actually require burning. Therefore, while it may be a temporary inconvenience, it’s a long term net benefit to the ecosystem.

I still do not like the smoke from burning fields, but I stand corrected that I should not lump all farmers in one category. Many farmers follow safety guidelines. They burn only when the wind is still and during the day hours. It seems mid-day or afternoon burns tend to go straight up. Once the sun sets, the dew makes the smoke hover, causing more problems. Therefore, most farmers do not burn at night.

Concluding, I will say harvest season is definitely not like it used to be when I was a child. Can I get a “thank God”? It’s a much more productive, efficient business these days. Machines now pick the cotton and tractors and combines are computerized. Environmental practices are followed, especially with regard to pesticides.

Yet, I must admit to being a little sad that kids today do not know what it’s like to play in a cotton wagon or to feel the satisfaction gained from a day of hard work.

The one thing which remains the same… harvest is a time for reaping your rewards.

Happy Harvest!

Sandra Brand is the editor of the NEA Town Courier and The Osceola Times. She may be reached by phone at 870-763-4461 or 870-563-2615 or by email at brand@osceolatimes.com.