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A Story of the Harvest
DeAnn (Wolkow) Kruempel, Columnist
The patch of gold drew my eye. Out in the stubble, a hundred yards from the road, a small pile of grain gleamed in the sun. A memory poured from my mind of a harvest day long ago:
A black cloud pressed in slowly from the west, darkening the October sky. Thunder
rolled faintly in the distance. Rain was coming.
Delmer hurtled into the yard on the John Deere 730, pulling a wagonload of oats. He
headed to the hoist where the wagon would empty into the elevator, which carried the grain up into the opening on the granary roof. Mom in her everyday dress and apron rushed out to help.
Seconds later, Dad charged home in the pickup. He stared up at the darkening sky as he strode to the granary. Could they get the trailer emptied before the rain?
Mom and Delmer handled most of the unloading and they had it down pat. But this time,
besides the impending rain, Dad needed to top off the bin. The goal was to heap the space, fill corners, and hopefully empty the trailer and the elevator before the storm.
Dad spotted me next to the windmill. “DeAnn, we need you to help.” My heart pounded,
for often my help proved disastrous. I was to be “on call.” When he needed the elevator to stop, he would yell. My job was to get the message to Mom and Delmer as fast as I could.
Dad tied his red bandanna over his nose and mouth, climbed the ladder to the top of the
bin and began shoveling. Delmer unhooked the wagon from the tractor. He started the engine on the heavy metal wagon. The engine ran the hoist and the elevator.
Mom lowered the hopper down directly behind the trailer. She would lift the flat metal
bar on the end gate to allow grain to flow out. As needed, Delmer would pull the lever to raise the hoist, lifting the front wheels of the trailer. To quickly stop the elevator, he would lift the side of the engine wagon, disengaging the belt. Mom would need to slam down the gate so the hopper would not run over.
My brother and mother worked fast to get the ground operation in place. Their serious
eyes met. I felt their tension as they turned to me. I looked up at Dad. He nodded and yelled, “Let it out!” I waved to Mom and soon the shiny blades moved the oats up. Some of the golden grains flowed back to the next blade. The movement of soft mounds was mesmerizing, like the foam on a gentle tide.
All went well for a while. I stood where I could see Mom on one side and Dad shoveling
above. Delmer raised the hoist to keep the grain flowing. Mom waited in the dust next to the hopper. Was that hope I saw as she glanced at me? Could the whole load possibly fit?
I felt a drop of rain and turned back to Dad. All of a sudden, he disappeared and I heard
him yell. “Stop!” I yelled, but the deafening rattle of the elevator drowned my cries. I raced to Mom, frantically screaming, “STOP!” Delmer saw me and rushed to halt the engine. Mom slammed down the gate.
Back in the alley of the granary, a river of oats flowed down the wooden wall to the floor,
leaving a gleaming pile. In front of the hopper outside, grain poured over the side onto the ground.
Ten minutes later, raindrops cratered the dust as Delmer and Dad scooped the oats from
the ground and carried the buckets to the chickens. But the wagon and elevator were empty and the cover sealed the granary roof.
A life lesson. A memory set free by a gleaming pile of grain in a stubble field.
It’s ready!
“Candles and Mirrors,” all the column stories from the last year plus pictures and recipes, is now available on Amazon.
Contact Kruempel at deannkruempelauthor@gmail.com.
