I sat there on an old five gallon bucket flipped upside down. I sat just outside the machine shed door on the slab.
The light of the shed shone out into the darkness just barely reaching to the gas tanks. Behind me, there in the half light, half darkness, stood our grain cart, a faded yellow with spots of red showing where the paint had worn thin. A step ladder leaned up against its side, and a greasy piece of canvas tarp lay on the ground under it. Wrenches, hammers, crowbars, bolts, and nuts lay still on the tarp.
At my feet sets the gear box, the top at one place, the bottom at the other. An old gallon can sat to one side, half full of grease. I took the spoon I had brought with me and once more dipped it into the gear box, filling it with more grease. Then taking my fingers I worked through that slimy stuff, feeling for little silver balls and removing them one by one before I dumped that whole mess into the can.
I looked up and over at the bench to where my husband stood. He was sweaty, dirty and tired. His head was bent over the vice as he worked gently putting the new bearing on the gear, whistling softly to himself. All around us was dim light and quiet. The smell of grain dust, grease, gas, and sweat filled the air. Outside, there somewhere in the darkness, a lone coyote sent up his "call of the wild". A half moon hung over in the west up there in the blackness of forever. I heard the clink of the gas hose being placed back into place. My husband had slipped out to fill an old pan with gas while I was concentrating on my task at hand, cleaning up this gear box.
All of the posts I have put on facebook about our harvest were happy and cheerful and may lead you to believe that all was "smooth sailing." But the truth is, it never is. This was only one of the disasters we had this last week. I tell you what, we were breaking down so often that I became a bit paranoid. I started to listen for any little noise that might say "something is wrong."
Quite a few times I would say to hubby, "What is happening here? Why is everything falling apart? What's going next? Will we ever get done?" He would just tell me as he was replacing a bolt or hammering off a broken part, "Well, this is what you get to do when you put up with used equipment. You can expect things to break down."
He will never know how much those few words meant to me. They showed to me the true heart of my husband.
As I have been writing my book, "Little by Little...Side by Side," memories have flooded my mind. Memories of how we first started out in our little farming business with next to nothing. Memories of the informal "business plan" that we created together that we would try to buy good used farm equipment when possible, in order to be able to make it in the ever volatile farming business. Memories of how motivated, determined, and hard working my husband has been from the day I met him. Memories of his deep care and concern for me and our family. It is because of this that he stands dirty, hot and tired late into the night, beside his bench or under a tractor, grain cart, or truck, fixing it so we can go again tomorrow.
But my heart hurts for him when he is heading for the machine shed in the hot afternoon, right in the middle of harvest, and other farmers are around us just cutting away. I say to him. "Oh honey, I'm sorry." He just smiles and says, "We'll be back at it in no time...you just watch and see!"
As much as I would like to be able to take away all the hardships that inevitably come up each day, the quote comes to mind, "A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor." As a result of his hard work and motivation to keep things going while spending less, my precious husband is well known for being able to fix anything! And on a deeper level, I know this has also helped make him into the kind, generous, gentle person that I love so much.
So I reach over from my spot there on the arm of the combine seat. I reach over and give him the biggest hug I can possibility muster. I lean down and plant a kiss on his dirty, sweaty cheek and my heart falls in love all over again.
The light of the shed shone out into the darkness just barely reaching to the gas tanks. Behind me, there in the half light, half darkness, stood our grain cart, a faded yellow with spots of red showing where the paint had worn thin. A step ladder leaned up against its side, and a greasy piece of canvas tarp lay on the ground under it. Wrenches, hammers, crowbars, bolts, and nuts lay still on the tarp.
At my feet sets the gear box, the top at one place, the bottom at the other. An old gallon can sat to one side, half full of grease. I took the spoon I had brought with me and once more dipped it into the gear box, filling it with more grease. Then taking my fingers I worked through that slimy stuff, feeling for little silver balls and removing them one by one before I dumped that whole mess into the can.
I looked up and over at the bench to where my husband stood. He was sweaty, dirty and tired. His head was bent over the vice as he worked gently putting the new bearing on the gear, whistling softly to himself. All around us was dim light and quiet. The smell of grain dust, grease, gas, and sweat filled the air. Outside, there somewhere in the darkness, a lone coyote sent up his "call of the wild". A half moon hung over in the west up there in the blackness of forever. I heard the clink of the gas hose being placed back into place. My husband had slipped out to fill an old pan with gas while I was concentrating on my task at hand, cleaning up this gear box.
All of the posts I have put on facebook about our harvest were happy and cheerful and may lead you to believe that all was "smooth sailing." But the truth is, it never is. This was only one of the disasters we had this last week. I tell you what, we were breaking down so often that I became a bit paranoid. I started to listen for any little noise that might say "something is wrong."
Quite a few times I would say to hubby, "What is happening here? Why is everything falling apart? What's going next? Will we ever get done?" He would just tell me as he was replacing a bolt or hammering off a broken part, "Well, this is what you get to do when you put up with used equipment. You can expect things to break down."
He will never know how much those few words meant to me. They showed to me the true heart of my husband.
As I have been writing my book, "Little by Little...Side by Side," memories have flooded my mind. Memories of how we first started out in our little farming business with next to nothing. Memories of the informal "business plan" that we created together that we would try to buy good used farm equipment when possible, in order to be able to make it in the ever volatile farming business. Memories of how motivated, determined, and hard working my husband has been from the day I met him. Memories of his deep care and concern for me and our family. It is because of this that he stands dirty, hot and tired late into the night, beside his bench or under a tractor, grain cart, or truck, fixing it so we can go again tomorrow.
But my heart hurts for him when he is heading for the machine shed in the hot afternoon, right in the middle of harvest, and other farmers are around us just cutting away. I say to him. "Oh honey, I'm sorry." He just smiles and says, "We'll be back at it in no time...you just watch and see!"
As much as I would like to be able to take away all the hardships that inevitably come up each day, the quote comes to mind, "A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor." As a result of his hard work and motivation to keep things going while spending less, my precious husband is well known for being able to fix anything! And on a deeper level, I know this has also helped make him into the kind, generous, gentle person that I love so much.
So I reach over from my spot there on the arm of the combine seat. I reach over and give him the biggest hug I can possibility muster. I lean down and plant a kiss on his dirty, sweaty cheek and my heart falls in love all over again.
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