Skip to main content

September Rain And Harvest Interuptus

 There hasn't been much rain, but there has been enough to dampen the ground and the spirits of the district farmers, who have parked the combines and headed to to the coffee shops, taverns, and parts-stores for 'supplies'. They all may be complaining about the weather, how there is seven degrees of separation from harvest rain to Trudeau, but I am enjoying being able to open a window without the belching, burping, black diesel smoke, and the sickening fine dust of the machine driving past. Clean air and country silence. The way it's meant to be.

I'm not saying that I want then to park the machines for the year. I know they have a job that needs to get done.  I'm just saying that it's nice that Mother Nature decided to give us all a break.

"But my wheat's grade."

"Suck it up. You'll survive Jethro."

And he will.

Because deep down he knows that it could be snow instead of rain.

 

Don't drink too much today, Jethro.

The sun is going to shine tomorrow.

That wheat in the field is your ticket to Arizona this winter.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

SERMON FROM THE DECK (The Christmas Story Version)

 Santa answered my call last night. It took a while to get past his tough receptionist, but eventually the big guy came on the line, I believe to placate and get rid of me.  We talked about memories of Christmas past. He reminded me that I asked for the Coleco Electric Football and that it wasn't his fault that it sucked. "You were supposed to be able to program the players by adjusting the fins on the bottom, but they just ran around in circles. And the kickers, the kickers, they both were broken by the second day."  He told me that he hoped my greed begat a lesson that was taught with crappy, broken things.   I reminded him that there has been no action on my later requests. World peace. Eliminated famine. Brotherhood and sisterhood. The age of Aquarius fulfilled.  He drew a deep breath, sighed a huge sigh, and then admitted that the power to have these oh so precious gifts does not come from a magical, imaginary elf in red, but is inside every one of us, jus...

March Crush

 You are a 15 year old male. Your hormones are raging, surging, "turn me loose!" Your only outlet is frustration. "I bet you're still a virgin!" "No I'm not." "When? Who" You make up a lie that flatters no one.     A Goddess lives three doors down. A woman who fills your dreams with scenes of life and lust that you have only experienced in crumpled, hidden magazines. She is recently divorced. With children at home, except on weekends when they are housed at their fathers, two towns away. You notice she returns your glance before you can turn your embarrassed stare away. She gives you a sly smile. "Oh God, she knows." One day, at a gathering at the school, she comes up to you.   "You are sure growing. I could use such a strong man to plow my driveway." What does she mean by that? Could she be coming on to me? "Yes Ma'am. I'm available tomorrow after supper." You know tomorrow is Friday, and that her ki...

THE SOCKS (With Apologies to the memory of Roch Carrier)

      Christmas, and the long winter ahead, stirs memories of long past and longer forgotten. Memories of a better time, which really is nothing more than sugar plums and peppermint candy clouding the true reality of our lives. And our loss.  I remember though, how every pothole full of frozen water became a potential hockey rink. And after our parents checked out the safety of the venue, the thickness of the ice, and whether or not it was in the range of "Mom's call" for supper, our Montreal Forum, Chicago Stadium, or Maple Leaf Gardens (spit) would be cleared for occupation by the masses. Games beginning in the morning, running through to dark, only stopping for Mom's call, or the occasional pee in the bush.  Hours and hours of unsupervised play time. Days ending with rosy cheeks and frozen wet pant legs. Does this even happen anymore?     The following was a Twitter thread many years ago. I should clean it up and build it out, and I...