The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
9-20-2011 Column
Every season has its own smell that can trigger fond memories for many farmers. Winter is the combination of crisp air freezing the inside of your nose with the sound of crunching snow as you walk across the moonlight yard for morning chores. Spring is undoubtedly the damp earthy smell of a freshly plowed field signaling the start of a new growing season. Summer has to be the smell of a soft July rain as the corn fields are tasseling. It smells like someone cut open a juicy ripe watermelon. However, my favorite smell is in the fall. The first loads of fresh corn silage rolling off the box surrounds you with its unique fragrance as you realize another growing year is coming to a close.
The corn and soybeans died last Wednesday night when the temperature hit 26 degrees. Katie was helping me pick as many tomatoes as we could find by the truck headlights after chores. By 9 pm we could see our breath in the beam of light and our fingertips were freezing. We scampered around with old sheets and blankets trying to cover the pumpkins, sweet potatoes and squash to extend the life of our garden for a late Indian summer. Mark even ran the pivot to “save” a corn field with a blanket of water, but the temps were too cold for too long. Orange growers use water as a blanket to save their crops when our cold air pushes too far south and he thought it wouldn’t hurt to try their trick up here. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t work either.
By Friday the corn moisture had dropped to 60% and the race was on to get the fields chopped. It has been interesting trying to get everything done in a day as our work crew is back in school. We have been fortunate to have Darren come and help us again. He has worked for us off and on for the past 12 years. He started with us before he could even drive. He loves to work with cattle and machinery and his extra set of hands have made the rush of the fall season not so crazy.
I’m back to driving chopper boxes this year. I love “dancing” with Mark in the fields as we switch boxes. Sometimes I think we should video tape the “dance” in the field. It is like watching a waltz on Dancing With the Stars, only with tractors instead of sequins and high heels. We drop our boxes and circle around each other in unison as we move into position to back up to our new box. It can be a very tight circle as we move around each other trying to keep the chopper chute from clipping the extended mirrors on my tractor. Mark leads me around the “dance floor” with unspoken (or at least unheard) commands. By the nod of his head or the motion of his hands, I can guess which way I’m supposed to turn.
The hand signals alone would make a great educational video as a foreign language. I’ve been working on learning this language for the past 24 years. I’m not as fluent as I use to be, or else I’m just having a harder time “seeing” the motions. I use to be able to “read” his smallest hand gesture. Now he needs to make gestures using his whole arm for me to understand. It is like talking very loud and slowly to someone who is hard of hearing.
The best is trying to figure out if I should wait at the end of the field for him to make another round, or follow because he will be full before he can get back to me. I have a 50/50 chance of getting this right. I’m usually wrong both times. When I go, I should stay and when I stay, I should go. Finally Mark will signal me to stay put with a stop sign or motion me to follow when I “ask” him with hunched shoulders and raised hands what I should do as he swings around to start another pass.
I know most people today use cell phones or walkie-talkies to keep in touch in the fields, but that is not always practical, especially when you’re topping off the silo and you’re surrounded by roaring engines and whaling PTO’s. Over the years, Mark and I have created our own special signal for when the silo is full.
Mark will climb to the top of the silo for the last couple of loads to direct the final flow of silage. I’m down below between the blower and the boxes with the rear tractor wheels helping me keep my balance as I crane my neck upwards to see how things are going. Suddenly I realize how clear blue the sky is against the silo dome. Squinting my eyes against the brightness of the sky, I watch pieces of chopped corn stalks float downward on the gentle fall breeze. White wispy clouds float past the silo top and I am thankful I don’t get motion sickness. It is as if you can see the earth rotating as the clouds race past.
I turn my attention back to the chopper box. With a steady beat, the apron moves the silage into the blower. Because you can’t even hear the person standing next to you, let alone someone on top of the silo shouting stop, Mark will send a shower of silage down upon my head as our signal the silo is full. After the equipment is shut down, I shake the silage from my shirt and walk over to the apple trees. Nothing says fall like biting into a crisp apple as the sweet juices run down your chin. Life is good.
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As their 4 children pursue dairy careers off the farm, Natalie and Mark are starting a new adventure of milking registered Holsteins just because they like good cows on their Minnesota farm. (Natalie grew up in Stronghurst, the daughter of Becky and the late Larry Dowell.)
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