By Tim Kalinowski
Harvest is here and that old excitement in the air. Anyone who grew up on a farm in a rural area knows this is the most important time of the year. Forget Christmas; harvest is the season of infinite hope and infinite possibility.
This is the moment when all the labours of the year find their verdict in nature; when, hopefully, the agonizing wait and worry of the summer growing period pays off for those who invested their time, energy and prayers into the soil which sustains their efforts. And although the harvest was definitely superior the past two years, from all accounts this year’s crop is better than could really have been expected given the hot weather and overall lack of June moisture or spring snow-melt to support it.
And regardless of grade, quality or bushels per acre, harvest is still harvest. It is still the time of great achievement. The time of celebration. The marking point. The turning of another year.
Our farmers may be growing older each year, with hair more white now than gray. The machines may be bigger. The farms fewer. The fields vaster. The solitude more potent. But what matters more than all these things is the cycle of growth and death and rebirth which culminates with the ritual of the harvest.
Soon the fowl suppers will be packing them in at community halls all over the region by the hundreds. The winter holiday weeks will be finalized at the travel office. The machines put away for another year. A full bin now, and money in the bank later; the bills as yet to be added up—all these thoughts and concerns for another day.
When our farmers off-load their final hopper full of grain these last few nights, they will look up and think how wonderful it is to do this work and how blessed they are to be in this place and time, under these glowing stars, on the vast plains we can all proudly call home.
Happy harvest! May we all enjoy abundance and together celebrate the fruits of another year well spent.