Traveling farmers, family and 140 years

140 years in the making

 This last week was so boring, absolutely nothing was accomplished (other than sleep and life and farming and well, everything) and yes, the sun still rose and set each day, that I have to write about my weekend. I’ll be honest, it was just that awesome. 

I knew it was off to a good start when the border dude was all ‘welcome home’ to me and hubs got a nod. Even the pup was quiet, if you ignore the ominous rumbling and count it as quiet that is. We even had a tailwind to help us onward and southward. Let me tell you, my pickup got excellent gas mileage that day. Even with hubs ‘teasing’ the highway patrol and gunning it past them. Mysteriously he was never over the suggested speed limit or found flashing lights in his mirrors. You can imagine the eye rolls and I might have given myself a headache from it all. (I’ll admit, I was practically sitting on my hands to not be a ‘side seat driver’ and I know a few suggestions escaped me. Yikes. The guys out there probably feel my hub’s pain and frustration.)

Combines were crawling along fields, grain carts were racing here and there and storm clouds were brewing. We ducked under the wire and beat a severe thunderstorm trying to cut us off on the interstate with dire warnings of tornado warnings. It was a good lightning show in my rear view mirror and fantastic clouds. They’re fascinating; the shape changes in a blink and some escalate quickly into the anvil head.

A new meaning to Friday night lights

 Scooter, of course, was passed out. His inner speedometer engages when we decelerate for construction, practically leap frogged those all the way down, or when we stop for a stretch break and he wakes up. No need for an air horn for this pup. 

As we left the pancake flat lands behind and wove our way into the gently rolling hills of the Midwest prairies, it was like coming home. This truly is the land of my heart. And the scenery is fantastic!

The big reason for going home, and why hubs made a big effort to come with, was the 140^th anniversary of my home church. My family had been working hard to get it planned (they were part of a committee) and the church polished up. It may be old with a hint of rugged prairie years showing but it’s a classic. It’s the church on a hill, replete with a working bell and a parsonage across the way.

It was a beautiful Sunday, the sun warming the fall-crisp air and the lightest breeze echoed through the stately pine trees. Flower pots showed off vibrant color while trees hinted fall with gold blushing at leaf tips. Cars slowly mobbed the country charm and people came together to celebrate the passing of time. Many shared their memories of growing up in the church, confirmations and some reflected back on where it all started; a sod church made up of Swedish immigrants, amidst the sea of nodding prairie grass and roaming buffalo. 

My grandma’s grandpa was the pastor and one of the charter members. That legacy continues with my family. Hubs and I got married in that church. And a lot of family history resides in the cemetery across the road.

In and around that big event, we managed to squeeze in some family time over coffee. One day, we had so much fun we coffee hopped to two different locales and considered a third, before conceding that too much espresso was perhaps too much. Clearly we bond over coffee and conversations, conversations that twist and turn, segue and make quantum leaps all the while sharing a good laugh. Still waiting for the pumpkin spice latte to arrive at my favorite local coffee shop though.

The biggest difference driving home? Seeing the change in color. No, not to fall but to green. It’s been so dry in Canuckland (only three inches since spring) that we are all caught up to harvest, waiting on the corn only. (We finally got a nice half inch rain while we were gone.) We cruised through soybeans and then back at home in SoDak, the beans are considering changing their color palette. What a difference, eh?

A nice foggy, misty morning to show off that color a-changin'

 Farmer dad estimates harvest will begin in the first week of October. Of course, the weather (hot or cold) is the driving force. I, when summoned, will head south snowbird-style for a combining vacation. My pretty red combine has had its insides all shined up, some new and is ready for me to take the captain’s chair. I even have a brand-new coffee travel mug for this season. (It really is a big deal.) Best part? The cab is nice and quiet, you can even listen to the radio. Hubs’ combine cab isn’t and with the mumbled squawks ejecting from the walkie talkie, (I guess they were talking to me?) you know the radio never gets turned on.

In the midst of all that, I did manage to say hello to my old friends. Sunny was too happy to see me that he forgot he wanted to act aloof. Flash was all about stuffing her face, as you can see. Hubs was acting as an ‘instagram husband’ (hilarious spoof on youtube) or ‘blog husband’ in this case and took the photo.

Can you tell Flash is a dainty eater? Thanks hubs for the photo. :)

Hubs and Dad did the male-bonding thing and watched some Sunday night football. I’m ambivalent about football but this game had my attention! Maybe because it was actual tv. You know, commercials, commercials, more commercials and THEN the show (or game) quickly followed by yet more commercials. Ooooh, commercials. I felt like one of those green alien dudes doing the ‘oooo’ from Toy Story. Canuckland has this thing for public tv, as in it has none. So we watch Netflix, prime or, even better, good ol’ fashioned dvd’s. News comes in the form of the little blue bird tweet app by strategized following. Or a little email that skims US news. I feel like smoke signals could be just around the corner in the ‘latest thing’ for news compared to news intake back home. Annnnnnd then the game quickly went south and it was only bearable to watch by having the tv muted. Never a good sign when you’re watching football… on mute. Yeah… the Falcons toasted the Packers. My fingers itched to channel surf to see if we were somehow on the comedy channel instead of real football.

And now we watch paint dry or the harvest equivalent, corn dry down. Maybe that phone call will come sooner to go south…

Happy harvest, may it be tail waggin’ good and the bushels heavy.