We went from completing our hay harvest to chopping corn immediately. On the day we finished third crop, my husband announced we’d change the hay head to the corn head on the chopper and continue filling the silage bag with corn. Rolling my eyes heavenward (behind his back), I thought, there go my plans.
Farming takes precedence over anything I might be dreaming up when it comes to personal lists of things-to-do. If we have clean clothes and edible food on the table during harvest season, I’m doing well. Everything else gets set aside.
One day we were chopping corn and things were clicking. I was enjoying the fresh air, working on a field right next to our woods. The corn stalks’ tassels were higher than my cab; thank You, Lord, for such good corn. Porcupine, raccoon, rabbit and a few deer were my companions. I even talked to one porcupine, letting it know to get out of the way or I’d have to run it over. There’s enough to watch, keeping the two-row corn head even with the rows of corn, adjusting the spout to fill the wagon evenly and making sure I don’t run over any standing corn, to watch out for errant wildlife in my way.
We had finished one field, which was on higher ground, and were beginning another. This field had one part quite close to a marshy area, which had soaked up moisture from the recent rains. The ground there was soft and sort of spongy, which went unnoticed by me until it was too late.
The day we were on the field on higher ground, my husband had told me to fill the wagons up a little more. I was being cautious, thinking they were too heavy to safely transport back to the farm. Those wagons, filled with chopped corn, can weigh three to four tons! He also reminded me to try not to run any corn over if I could help it.
So there I was, merrily working away on the lower-ground field. I filled that wagon to the brim and I was right proud of myself. Pulling off the row, I made sure I wasn’t running anything over by inching away from the standing corn. Soon I realized I was inching too far over and was getting sucked into softer ground.
Presently I heard a most alarming sound, my tractor was starting to bog down. Oooooohhh-oh. My gut sank along with my shoulders, and, figuratively, I melted into the seat. Pushing the clutch in, I brought the tractor to a stop, pulled down on the throttle and shifted to park. Climbing out of the tractor I surveyed the damage. The wagon wheels weren’t buried, really, but sort of. I unhooked the wagon and hoisted myself back up into the cab with my gut in knots, thoughts whirling through my head nonstop.
“It’s-such-a-beautiful-day-we-were-making-such-good-progress-maybe-he’ll-have-to-unload-part-of-that-load-right-there-how’s-he-gonna-get-that-out-it’s-in-there-so-far-oh-he’s-gonna-be-mad-what-on-earth-was-I-thinking.”
To my husband’s credit, he did not say a word. He knows when I feel bad and what good would it have done to ask me what was I thinking when the fact was: I really wasn’t thinking. I knew that was soft ground on that side. I knew those loads get heavy. Sometimes I feel bad for him having to work with me. Seriously.
One day as I was chopping I had sheared a bolt on one of the rollers. I had to shut down and wait for him to come back after he unloaded so he could put a new bolt in. He tried to show me how to fix it, explaining, “The old one will pop out so you just have to line up the holes and put a new bolt in. Put a nut on and tighten it. See? It’s right here.”
To be honest, what he showed me looked like a conglomeration of chains, wheels and nuts and bolts all covered in grease. Inside myself I was replying, “I’ll just wait for you.”
So on the day I had got the wagon stuck he had to make a trip back up to the farm for a sturdy chain. Coming back he gave orders clearly and without hesitation: “I’m going to hook up to the load. You drive your tractor ahead of mine.”
I had a million questions but asked none of them. For once in my life I did not say anything but just followed orders. Driving my tractor (which was still hooked up to the chopper) ahead of his, he hooked the chain around the chopper and then hooked it up to the drawbar of his tractor.
“Put it in low two, pull up the slack and then give it a little gas.” As I followed his commands I prayed, “Lord, please send Your angels to push this wagon out of these ruts!” Slowly I drove forward, he followed and we pulled that wagon out of the muck. Taa-daa! Thank You, Lord, for sending those angels!
So far this harvest season has brought a little trouble and a lot of blessings: Fresh, crisp air, robust corn crop, a variety of forest animals, sheared bolts, stuck wagons and … angels in the corn field.
(“For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” Psalm 91:11)
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