Re: Favourite farm job with Dad.

Posted by Aaron SEIA on August 10, 2010 at 15:35:53 from (67.55.181.175):

In Reply to: Favourite farm job with Dad. posted by Burnie on August 10, 2010 at 04:41:19:

Bit long to rtead, but this is something that I wrote in college for a writing class. The equipment has changed and I've got passengers in the cab (wife or oldest boy), but the sentiment remains the same.

AaronSEIA

The Red Machine

Growing up on a medium sized farm I have done many things. I have spent many hours watching Market to Market, an agricultural marketing show on PBS, with my dad trying to figure out when to sell a drought or flood damaged crop. I have spent more hours making parts runs with him in a rusty GM pick-up, and when that one went, a Dodge with a ram on the hood.

I first learned to drive the lawn mower, acquiring the necessary skills needed to move up to the bigger tractors. Still more hours were spent riding shotgun with him doing anything and everything. We tilled, planted, combined, and even hauled manure together. I would sit on the fender and analyze his procedures and ask questions about what he was doing and why. More hours were spent gleaning information from him, drawing on his years of farming and mechanical background. None of this, however, holds a candle to my favorite place to be.

On a hot September day the words " I'd like to try some corn this afternoon if I get the chance" really get my adrenaline pumping. As dad climbs up in the big 915 I jump up onto my home for the next two months. My favorite place to be is in the seat of an International Harvester (I.H.) 1066 tractor at corn combining time. A 1066 is not the pinnacle of tractors, to be sure, its over 20 years old, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Climbing the two steps to the platform of this big red machine makes me feel like I'm on top of the world. Pushing in the clutch as I flip the key on and depress the starting button is a thrill. Once the 414 cubic inches catch, the turbo whines, and I rev. it a couple of times I'm set to go.

Watching dad send the I.H. 915 combine, also red, also old, into the corn signals the start of the season. I always like to watch the tall, brown cornstalks shudder and tremble right before they are snapped to the ground and robbed of their ears. Meanwhile, I select a gear to tag along behind with a large red wagon. Of the sixteen forward gears I choose one in the middle, first high. At this speed I can keep up with dad at three miles an hour and still watch the ground.

The first combining of the year is as boring and slow as it is exciting. The combine needs some adjustments and I scan the ground behind the combine from my seat. I'm looking for the telltale signs of a poor job, kernels on the ground and half-threshed cobs. Spotting these signs, I signal dad to stop, jump off the tractor and run along the fence dodging cobs being shot out the back of the machine to report my findings. Dad nods and crawls into the back to make some minor adjustments. I climb up to the bin on the combine and grab a quick sample to test for moisture. The goal is around 20 to 24 percent, its right at 23%. Dad comes out and we're on our way.

Since dad is opening the field, I have nowhere to go but right behind him, waiting for a chance to dump the bin. This is a terrible place to be, but I love it. At a distance of a couple hundred feet I can still hear the roar of the combine above the idle of my tractor and the fender radio belting out K.H.A.K. The dust is the worst. This year the wind was strong and I spent a lot of time in a cloud of itchy corn chaff.

Later in the season, when things really get going, I have even more fun. Coming home from school at three, I would change and go out until ten or eleven at night, later on weekends. That was a blast, sitting on the big 1066 on a crisp, starry night listening to the tractor, K.H.A.K., and the combine. I loved to turn off the lights, tip my head way back and stare at the stars.

Once dad gets my 600-bushel wagon full, I am off. With the big lights guiding my way, I start moving one gear too high so I can watch the big orange and blue flame rolling out the exhaust stack as the tires alternately dug and spun trying desperately to get 36,000 pounds of wet corn moving. Once I hit the road I was gone. As I turned on the hazard lights I started the wonderful task of getting all that corn up to road speed, 25 miles per hour. Without touching the clutch once I'd rev. the engine and drop it into second, then third, then the ultimate, fourth: road gear. The last thing I did was open that puppy up and sit back to watch the smoke and flame pore out the exhaust as the tractor fought its way up to 25. That is a rush, flying along with the whine of the transmission below me and the scream of those cubic inches pulling in front of me and the gentle bobbing of the big red monster on a cool fall night.

As I slowed down to pull into the yard I could see the steam cloud rising out of the dryer like steam from a pot of boiling water. Driving past the big thing I can hear, and feel, the 20-horse motor and fan scream against the calm night. It is an amazing sight to see that massive ring of blue and gold flame, highlighted by one bright yellow spark plug tip, getting forced into the hollow center of the machine. Fast moving air heated to 200 to 210 degrees is used to dry corn down to the 13% moisture for storage.

Pulling up to the ten-inch wide 41-foot long auger that takes the corn into the holding bin, I shoot for the exact center of the hopper. Once found, I start the auger up and pour it on. The 1950 Case DC used on the auger can barely keep up with the massive flow of corn as the exhaust starts to glow cherry red. I can unload those 600 bushels in about ten minutes, that's very fast. In those ten minutes I check the propane tank, the corn coming out of the dryer, the corn going in, and the holding bin. I look for stuff that is wrong like high or low moisture, low propane in the tank and a full holding bin. Ten minutes and 500 bushels later I'm back out in the field.

Sure, this isn't an actual place like a tree house or my room, but it is a place to me. It is the great outdoors during the best and busiest time of year. Spend some time driving the backroads at harvest time and I think you'll agree this is one of the best places to be. Keep your eyes open though, it’s a special place for me and I'm sure I'll be out on the road with a smile on my face and the wind in my hair.

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