When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson. When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged. Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson. When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine. As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go. When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.
So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town. The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work. It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops. The crop it grew was wheat. When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land. Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me. Jake was actually 4 years older than me. I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did. I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.
The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest. I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture. The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots. They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun. The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out". As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often. Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things. One was how full the head was. Another was how dry the wheat kernels were. And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days. And then the work began.
The combine was greased and readied for the field. Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do. Dad and John ran combines. Mother drove a truck. I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work. Josephine stayed home with us younger kids. Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death. Jake carried fresh water to the workers. He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard. Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going. The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator. I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.
Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country. I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters. The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready. They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.
Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is. If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped. And then winter the fields are barren. I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it. Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop. One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring. Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.
I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me. Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area. Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.
It is a conundrum!
So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town. The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work. It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops. The crop it grew was wheat. When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land. Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me. Jake was actually 4 years older than me. I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did. I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.
The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest. I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture. The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots. They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun. The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out". As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often. Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things. One was how full the head was. Another was how dry the wheat kernels were. And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days. And then the work began.
The combine was greased and readied for the field. Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do. Dad and John ran combines. Mother drove a truck. I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work. Josephine stayed home with us younger kids. Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death. Jake carried fresh water to the workers. He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard. Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going. The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator. I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.
Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country. I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters. The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready. They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.
Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is. If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped. And then winter the fields are barren. I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it. Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop. One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring. Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.
I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me. Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area. Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.
It is a conundrum!
