Time flies

Wintry prairie view

Before you know it, it’s Monday and the weekend turned into the week. Throw in a holiday and it feels more like a Wednesday than the first day of the week. Of course, it’s Cyber Monday and sadly I didn’t spend my day shopping. Instead, I attempted to conquer the chaos of post-holiday travel and accumulated bookwork. Yeah, the bookwork didn’t get too far because, well, it’s Monday. And who wants to do bookwork right after a holiday? (Hand not raised.)

Thanksgiving was fun in a whirlwind let’s-clean-everything-and-bake-everything-eat-wash-too-many-dishes and then finally collapse. The fun part was probably due more to an out-of-town cousin joining the festivities and all of us cousins playing a card game, Ligretto. If you don’t have good eye-hand coordination resign yourself to having a negative score (cards leftover in your deck count double, in the negative). Surprisingly, because hey a migraine wanted in on the fun too, I managed to win. No, no applause, really I mean it. A lot of laughter was shared over our mutual inability to pick up cards quickly as the tablecloth invariably came with the card.

Somehow, Thanksgiving speedily came and went; now the calendar is informing me that it’s hubs’ and my second anniversary tomorrow. Wow, does time fly. It feels like it was July just a week ago and harvest a couple days ago. I have to say I’m getting the hang of this thing called travel for my almost-monthly visits back home. Still, long hours of driving get dull so lucky for me I have a co-pilot for most of the road trips to SoDak.

Looking back, it was an interesting year, from the anniversary time clock, that is. I have driven through more auction lots (coincidentally on or right before an anniversary), gone on ‘dates’ to crop scout or check out potential equipment purchases. Side note, some of those equipment review ‘dates’ were booooooring because some old-school Mennonite or Hutterites will not talk to women. You might as well not even be there. Guess my opinion wasn’t needed, right? At least there was good convo and coffee before and after those sketch encounters. Ah well, hubs did well though, he randomly bought flowers (or had flowers waiting when I came home from planting/harvest) and will cook the occasional meal. I taught him well, haha. And we actually made plans for a vacation this year. T minus one month!

He really wanted a goofy photo :)

And speaking of time moving on fast forward, Christmas is the next target up. Who has their shopping done? One of my best friends had her’s done in August, it’s disgusting really, and is half done for next Christmas! I consider myself ahead of the game if I’m making an ideas list in July and saunter through the shopping process. Casual-like because Black Friday shopping is amusing to watch but insanity if you’re wading through it.

May you have survived Black Friday (your wallet too), indulged in the candy cane mochas and start December (this Friday yikes!) with gratitude for (fill in the blank). Me, gratitude for family.

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.

The smell of harvest

Photo courtesy of hub's cousin, Dave

It’s official. We are definitely in the harvest season, canuckland-style. Back home, there would still be a good couple weeks until it was ‘go time, get your head in the game, put your game face on,’ whichever you prefer.

Normally, the smell of harvest is that crisp nip of the air to your cheeks bringing the light scents of drying leaves, clean air and a hint of dew to your nose. Unless, of course, you happen to be one of those people that perpetually have a coffee mug of a sort in your hand or nearby; then it might be a little harder to pick up that specific, memory-maker scent. Let’s be real here, that heady smell of delicious, brain-jumpstarting coffee wins the race of scents recognized by the ol’ nose. Also, unless you’re one of those rare, yet-to-be-photographed tea drinkers then you might have a bit more of a chance catching a nice, long inhale of that harvest-time scent. And for those on the struggle bus, imagine pumpkins, pumpkin spice (or chai tea) lattes and cinnamon apple crisp then you’d be on the right track (but behind, clearly).

Photo courtesy of hub's cousin, Dave

 However, seeing as how it’s still August that lovely harvest scent has not been on the market for outdoor scents, yet, it’s coming but will probably make an appearance closer to October. Right now, the smell of harvest is dust, brittle and hot wind and more itchy dust. Spring wheat is apparently quite notorious for leaving behind some love for its land stewards in the form of itchy dust. I’m thinking the correlation between the itchy dust and wheat is due to the stalk size of the plant. I’ve noticed bean dust is itchy but wheat dust takes it to another level. No thank you! I’ll take the rock trap opening and dumping a nice load of bean dust and junk on me than get covered in wheat dust.

Spring wheat harvest is cruising along, especially with the rain passing by. However, the yields give us much to be thankful for as the rain totals have been on the sparse side. I wake hubs early in the mornings to go swathing canola to take advantage of the dew. As I understand it, the dew makes for better swath cutting and less shelling out of the canola. Hopefully the canola yields well also. 

Photo courtesy of my hubs

 Did I mention it was dusty? Beautiful, rain-laden clouds pass over and give some much-needed shade while I’m mowing but they continue on and keep dumping rain over the same prairies south of us. Maybe the rain clouds need a perfect proposal kind of skit to entice them to grace us with some rain. You know that scene, where the future fiancée is flown over a beach/field/etc and there’s a proposal written out below. Ah well, there’s always hope of rain in the forecast although the clouds will tell when it will actually rain.

While hubs is having so much fun with a few breakdowns here and there and rolling in the itchy dust like it was a leaf pile meets a five year-old, I’ve been harvesting the garden. Never have I felt like a championing victor than when I ended up picking a bucket of cucumbers. Perhaps it was the summer long ordeal of a war campaign against the grass. Or perhaps it was the thought of a lighter grocery bill. Of course I knew exactly what I was going to do with this abundance of veggies (and my plan when I planted). Canning!

Let me first clarify that this was the launch of my canning career. I’ve assisted my mom growing up but I dried the jars or stuffed them with the veggie of the day. This was a whole new level of the game. What do you do first? For how long? And more questions. Naturally, I went to Pintrest; the site that’s a treasure-trove of ideas and knowledge. Then I called my mom. Hashtag ‘thanks mom’ was so appropriate for my Insta post later. I sweated out over three and a half hours of canning. One batch turned into two. Hubs popped in for a kiss and drink of water and then said he was scouting the garden before he left with the truck. I thought for sure he wouldn’t find anything, I had just been out there yesterday picking. Yeah…  He comes in with an armload of cucumbers. Hence batch number two. 

I survived my first attempt at canning, it was surprisingly easier than I had thought. For even better first-timer experience, I had a jar break on me in the canner bath. I’ll blame it on the heat in the kitchen as to why I stood there stupefied for a good, long couple of seconds as I watched bits of dill float to the surface. Then the water turned a bit yellow (dill mix) and then it finally hit me that a seal had broken or something. Now which jar was it? Some serious scrutiny later I found the culprit. I set the offending jar in the sink, placed in the last jar and closed the lid. Peering at the ‘broken’ jar (it was boiling hot yet) I couldn’t figure it out and then I turned the jar around so I could see the bottom. And there it was. Ah ha. My mom commented later that she couldn’t believe that had happened on my first time canning because she’s only had that happen to her a couple of times in all her years of canning experience.

Here’s to a new week (my parents’ anniversary today!), harvest and productive gardens. May your seat be comfy, the radio loud and harvest yields great.

Independence Days

Mondays, you got to love ‘em. First day of the week and this one is smack in the middle of two independence days. Canada day, eh, on July 1 and, of course, Fourth of July (the name speaks for itself). My first Canada day as a resident of this lovely country was also its 150^th birthday; pretty cool, if I do say so myself.

Towns all over celebrated this milestone in different ways. One of the towns, a stone’s throw away from me, celebrated with a lunch, tractor pull and fireworks later in the evening. I haven’t quite found the thrill in a good tractor pull but I do love the spell that a good set of ear pro pulls over my hearing.

I will admit my first thought (a year ago when the father in-law told me the 150^th was coming up) was along the lines of, mental pause, ‘my Marine Corps is older, way older and people are excited about this?’ However, as the year marched onward and blasted the door open on this year, I began to get excited for this big moment in history for Canuckland.

It was fun to see how the Canucklanders celebrated as a whole and as families. And that the die-hard farmers could take a day off and enjoy the holiday too. I will always be comparing the independence day celebrations of my two countries, that’s life eh, but I’ve learned it’s so much fun to enjoy both and appreciate their differences.  

Logo. Photo credit: internet

Back at home, the annual maternal family reunion is taking place on the fourth, straight up at noon. As a kid, I recognized just about everyone that showed up. Nowadays, as those kids marry, throw some kids and the old folks earn new marks of wisdom (and sass) it’s harder to recognize everyone and what shoot of the family tree they belong to. Once the food is gone and the ice cold beverages are long gone in the simmering, sticky heat an efficient roll call of sorts makes the rounds so the younger generations have a slim chance of playing the memory game next year and winning. Surprisingly, the more wisdom one has, the sharper with names they are; with a few exceptions of course. It’s like someone took a sharpie and wrote them a cheat list, that also happens to be matched correctly to the face. 

Then it’s back to the farm to chill in the ac or find a pool for a swim. The fun stuff, the fireworks, are brought out as the sun gives a cheeky wink. Fireflies compete with sparklers and provide the perfect ground show for the sky high artillery shells exploding in shimmering arcs overhead. Neighbors have a friendly, unspoken competition with each other and it’s always apparent which one has the little kids. There’s more of the fountains and boxed, little artillery and crackling pops of rockets. 

Enjoy the fireworks and freedom!