There is something special about harvest time in Iowa. It makes me think back to when I was little girl, sitting in line at the Beaman Co-op with my hard-working mother. With a full wagon load behind us, I waited in anticipation for the little pack of Lifesavers the gal at the window would hand out to the children.
We would pull forward slowly and sure enough, the woman at the window would smile and hand the candy to my mother. I carefully slid the colorful wrapper away from the rest of the package, as not to tear it, and placed it on my finger admiring my ‘rainbow ring’. I looked for the red string at the end of the foil wrapper and slowly revealed the five beautiful candies inside. I ate the red one first and saved the light yellow one for when we got back to the field.
I often wonder what those days were like for my mom. It had to have been stressful, but she never let on. Three kids crammed into the front of a truck. A time before tape players or even seat belts, for that matter.
In the evenings, she would make supper. Ours, as well as the countless hamburgers that she wrapped in foil to hand out to the men. Cups of apple crisp and cheesy potatoes formed an impressive assembly line. Everything would be packed neatly into paper bags and stuffed into a giant cooler.
Then the tough part…where were the men? Did she try to calculate just how to keep everything warm as we drove around looking for the headlights of a combine in the darkness?
In an age without cell phones, we spent a lot of time waiting on the end rows in hopes that Dad would see us before turning around for yet another round. The smell of cold and cornstalks would enter the cab as she ran out to climb the ladder of the roaring green giant. My parents would speak briefly…no time to stop as rain lurked in the distance.
Now to find the next hungry gentleman. The truck was warm and by now, we would all be getting sleepy. Did she worry that it would be too late to give baths by the time we got home? Did she really want to sing “This is the Day” for the eleventh time? Did she tire of trying to figure out whose turn it was to sit by the window?
All I know is that she never complained. She was a farmer’s wife and the mother to three and later four children. She was just as beautiful in her flannel, button-down shirt as when she wore a Sunday dress. She was strong and I rarely saw her sit down.
My father would later tell me not to marry a farmer, but as far as I could see, through my six year old eyes…it was a pretty good life.
