So today is the day DR Coffman has chosen to take out his crop of corn. Last week he harvested a small section behind us (to test the moisture content?) but we've heard nothing since. This morning, just before 10 a.m., I heard a harvester coming north and could see, from the second floor bathroom window, that he was working in the field south of us. I grabbed my camera, pulled on shoes and ran out onto the back porch to take this shot as he passed our property going west.
DR always uses his Case harvester, one that's smaller than many we see. I suppose it's like a lawn tractor that's a little less wide: the job takes longer but it gets done just the same.
I'm sure he's working today because it's been so dry and breezy and there is a chance of a shower later this afternoon. In fact, fairly high winds (to 40 mph) are forecast for later today with the passage of a cold front. It'd be good to get the corn in before that happens.
After he passed our house, I ran over to our barn and took this picture as he continue westward. Such a dusty job! Since I took this picture, I've been blowing my nose and I had to use eye drops to stop the itching. I am not a farmer at heart.
The harvesting of this field to our south is something of a watershed event every other year (when there is corn planted there rather than soybeans). Our slowly-evolved privacy, a whole summer on the make, is gone in an afternoon. It's as though we have been living in the bottom of a box and the sides are suddenly peeled down and removed. We join society again through Coffman's work.
I am saddened, too, by the two years that will pass before we have corn again. Soybeans are so tame in comparison. Give me a field of tall corn, the gentle sounds it makes in the evening wind. Soybeans are stiff and tense in comparison and have none of corn's heart.
I will again have the neighbor's pole light shining on my closet door tonight. It is as though it has been suddenly installed, an artificial full moon which is there night after night.
Our winter approaches. This is the almost final call for cold weather.
