Wheat season was a favorite of mine growing up
My job, which I often shared with cousins and my sister, was to drive the tractor and wagon up to the combine when the bin became full.
As I may have mentioned on more than one occasion, I grew up on a dairy farm located a few miles northwest of Fowlerville. We were among the esteemed agriculturalists that lived within the borders of Conway Township, although I was perhaps less esteemed than many others in that rural neighborhood.
Most of the crops we raised—corn, oats, and hay—were used to feed the cattle. The only exception—for us and most other farmers of that time and place—was wheat. It served as a cash crop; the revenues, along with the monthly milk check, helping pay the expenses.
I don’t recall seeing any soybean fields in the area until after I’d stopped helping on the farm—that being in the early-to-mid 1970s—and shelled corn when I was young had not yet become a predominant commodity.
There were reoccurring cycles on the farm. One of them arrived in mid-July when the wheat stalks turned the color of amber and the kernels had sufficiently dried and hardened. I remember seeing my father and grandfather biting into the grain to decide whether to start combining.
The first day usually started with a trip around the outer edge of the field, with a sample of wheat taken to the Fowlerville Co-op (usually by my mother) to determine its moisture level. Upon learning the number, the decision was made to continue with the harvest or wait a bit longer.
A high moisture level, of course, increased the cost of drying the wheat and that meant less profit, hence the hesitation. On the other hand, the window of opportunity was open only so long. Foul weather could—as it so often does—cause delays and, with too much delay, the danger of the kernels sprouting became a concern.
I’m not sure at what age I started doing chores—maybe right after I learned to walk—but I was around ten years old when they let me drive a tractor. It was a rite of passage for farm kids.
Once that moment arrived, unbeknownst to me, I was on the fast track of becoming a fulltime hired man, particularly during our summer vacation from school. The routine was simple: up early in the morning to help milk cows, various daily chores done to take care of the bossies, whatever work awaited that day, and then a chance to milk the cows a second time and do a few more chores.
I can’t claim my youth was “all work and no play,” but most farm kids were expected to help out. And it was a volunteer proposition.
Looking back, wheat season was a favorite of mine growing up. My job, which I often shared with cousins and my sister, was to drive the tractor and wagon up to the combine when the bin became full. As the grain was being unloaded into the wagon, we’d level it off with a shovel.
Both my grandfather and father had Allis Chalmers combines with a short head—four foot wide as I recall. Hence, it took awhile to fill the bin. So, in-between those unloadings, there was a good deal of idle time that we kids put to good use. There were usually shade trees along the edge of the field, and we’d drive the tractor and wagon to one of them to avoid the hot sun. This added to the enjoyment of the experience.
A big feature of wheat is that it’s not itchy or miserable to be around, unlike oats or being downwind from hay dust. As we waited for the bin to get full, parked under a shade tree, we could sprawl out in the bed of kernels and take it easy. Chit chat, watch the fluffy clouds float by, and not get in trouble with the elders…after all, we were working.
Of course, eventually the wagon gets full and an empty one replaces it. The full wagon would then need to be taken to the Co-op to unload and bring back.
Another rite of passage arrived when I became old enough to drive the tractor and wagon to town. We were three-to-four miles away, depending on the location of the field. I would put the vehicle in high gear and head off, waving to those motorists who passed me and, after reaching the village limits, occasionally seeing a schoolmate. I suspected these contemporaries of mine, the city kids as we called them, were green with envy; this, after all, was the next best thing to driving a car—the ultimate threshold to adulthood.
All good things come to an end, though, and that end was reaching the Co-op and having to wait my turn in what was usually a long line. It seemed an eternity as I inched ahead, watching as each wagon or truck had its front end raised to allow the wheat to spill out the back.
But once my turn came, it was ‘on the road again’ and all-to-soon back to the field. I don’t believe we had more than two wagons, plus the pickups, so the trick was to return before they had been filled.
Nowadays, with the return of each harvest season, I enjoy watching wheat slowly turn yellow and then a golden hue. But it doesn’t take long for the combine, with its wide apron, to have a full bin or finish off a field. The kernels are usually unloaded into the back of a large grain truck or trailer, and those are driven to the grain terminal.
Of course, what hasn’t changed is the long line at the terminal.
These days, the only kids I see with a tractor and wagon, parked under a shade tree, and sprawled out in the bed of wheat as they await for another unloading are those of memory.
Steve Horton is a mid-Michigan journalist and editor-publisher of the Fowlerville News & Views—a weekly newspaper.
Started chores, when you could walk. I cracked up at that.
And, I can say, as one of the city kids, we were green with envy.
Reminded me of working for the Campbell in the summer actually 2 summers during hay harvest. Those bales were hard to get up at first. Then I’d learn a trick or two and by the end, I was tossing like crazy. Late my 2nd haying fit them, I got to drive the tractor and deliver it to the stacking crew in the halo.
Hard work you farmers did. Besides maybe cleaning the garage and then playing baseball, basketball whatever. If you couldn’t find a game then we’d sit in the shade and just be kids. I’ll take the city life over farming back then!
Thx for the memories.