by Mia Carson
I pulled to a stop behind the café. I took a couple of deep breaths to clear my head. I grabbed the review mirror and twisted it around so I could see myself. My color was up. I smiled at myself and put the mirror back where it belonged. This new me was all Levi’s fault…and I loved it!
I sat for a few more minutes, sitting in my car, thinking calming thoughts. I thought of Abby, Mom and Dad, how Grandma had broken the ice by pushing her way to Levi to hug him. I took another deep breath. I pulled the mirror around again. My color was back to normal. With another deep, cleansing breath, I put the mirror back in place, opened my door, and hurried through the rain to my job.
13
Levi
I moved with the machine as it slowly traversed the field, gently pitching and rolling like a great green ship of agriculture. If someone had been watching me, they’d have said I was daydreaming, but I wasn’t. I was communing with the machine. I could tell more about what the machine was doing by how it sounded and how it moved than I ever could with my eyes.
Dad farmed about 2,400 acres. In perfect condition, a John Deere 9870 combine could harvest about twenty-five acres an hour. It would take us roughly three weeks to completely get our crop in with one combine. With two machines, a little over half that. After our crop was in, Dad did contract harvesting, where we’d rent our services to farmers to harvest their crops.
The 9870 combine harvester was at the top of the Deere line ten years ago and cost nearly a half-million dollars each. Smaller farmers couldn’t afford such an expensive piece of machinery, so they contracted their harvesting operations out. For Dad, it helped pay for the two very expensive machines that were only used a few weeks a year.
But this year, the conditions were far from perfect. It had been raining, and we’d had some wind. Some of our crop was down, and if we didn’t get it harvested soon it would start to rot. The problems we faced were two-fold.
First, our operating window each day was only five or six hours. We had to wait for the dew to dry in the morning before we could start, and we had to stop as the dew began to form in the evening. Harvesting a wet crop was an exercise in frustration as the wet sorghum wouldn’t thresh properly, forcing the machine to work harder and reducing the speed it could travel across the field, while at the same time the wet plant material tended to plug the machine. A wet crop also reduced the compensation for the crop as the silo had to spend more to dry the grain.
The second problem was if the ground was wet and soft, operating on wet ground ran the risk of getting stuck. Our combines weighed over forty-thousand pounds empty, around sixty-thousand pounds when fully loaded with grain. Even with the massive high flotation tires and four-wheel drive, a combine needed firm ground to operate effectively.
This year, as soon as the ground would dry enough for us to get into the fields, it would rain again. We’d been dodging the weather for almost a month. We were behind and pushing hard during the breaks in the weather. Dad and I were working the last eight-hundred acres in tandem. Clouds were threatening, but if the rain held off the rest of the day, we’d have our crop in and could relax.
Because of the push, everyone was helping. Dad and I were operating the combines, Grandpa was driving the grain cart, and Mom and Grandma were driving the trucks taking the grain we’d just harvested to the silo. While one truck was delivering the grain, we’d be hard at work filling the second one.
If we could get the trucks into the fields, the task would go faster as we wouldn’t have to stop and wait on the grain cart, but with the ground as wet and muddy as it was, the grain trucks would be stuck the moment they left the road. That meant we had to shuttle the grain to the trucks using the grain cart, or stop harvesting and drive the combine to the truck to unload. Driving the combine to the truck was terribly inefficient because our fields’ average yield was around a hundred bushels of grain sorghum per acre. With the combines three-hundred-bushel capacity, that meant we were stopping every two to three acres to unload, and that wasn’t much. I spent more time driving the combine back and forth between where it was harvesting and the truck than I did harvesting the crop. The machines were expensive and earned their keep by threshing grain, not being driving back and forth to unload.
All this was percolating through my mind as I crept along. If we were having this much trouble, the smaller farmers were having a rougher time. I glanced at the clouds again. If the rain would just hold off the rest of the day.
I checked the mirror that allowed me to see how much grain was in the hopper. I was nearly full, could feel it in the way the machine moved. I glanced over my shoulder, looking for Grandpa. He was on the far side of the field, creeping along slowly beside Dad as he unloaded and harvested at the same time. I reached up and pulled down the mic.
“I need to unload as soon as you can get here.”
“I have to unload first,” Grandpa replied.
“10-4.”
That was the problem with wet fields. The trucks held a shit load of grain, the combines a comparatively small amount, and the grain cart somewhere in between. Mom and Grandma spent most of their time sitting around waiting, Grandpa was running his ass off trying to keep up with two combines, and Dad or I would occasionally have to stop working because we were full and had to wait to unload. If we had another pair of hands, we could use the other grain cart and operate with an assembly line efficiency.
I felt the machine start to settle in an unseen soft spot. I yanked the stick in reverse, trying to back away before the machine began to mire. The transmission howled in protest at the sudden change in direction. With the heavy load I was carrying, it pitched the machine forward, causing it to stand on its nose, its small steering wheels at the back hanging in the air.
I stabbed the clutch, trying to prevent the giant machine from sinking to its axles. “Well, shit,” I spat.
I forced the header down, levering the rear wheels back to the ground. The wheels on the back were small but driven, and they might be enough to make the difference. I waited until the machine processed all the grain and shut down the collection and threshing systems to save every horsepower I could. I took a deep breath before I hauled back on the stick and sidestepped the clutch. The machine lunged backwards, the John Deere 13.5-liter engine whistling and roaring as the machine strained to free itself.
“Come on, baby,” I coaxed as I spun the steering wheel left and right, searching for a little more bite from the rear tires. It was still going down, so I jammed the transmission into forward until I felt the combine stop, then jerked it back to reverse. “Come on, baby, come on, baby, come on, baby, you can do it,” I urged, rocking in the seat as I worked the wheel, unconsciously hoping that throwing my two-hundred pounds around might make a difference in the sixty-thousand-pound machine. I felt the rear tires scrabble for grip on the right, and I tapped on the right brake pedal, trying to twist the machine in that direction as I looked for grip anywhere I could find it.
Like a hippo dragging its bulk out of a wallow, the combine slowly hauled itself out of its own hole. From the time I’d first tried to back up until I was on solid ground may have taken fifteen seconds, but it had felt like hours. I let out a long, slow breath of relief. That had been close. I’d seen big, fully loaded combines stuck so badly it had taken two or three big tractors to free them. I would have to unload before I went in there again, and then I was going to tiptoe around the edges until I was sure I could cross. Getting stuck could cost us hours as we worked to get the beast out.
I waited until I could unload and spent fifteen-minutes nosing around as I mapped out the edges of the soft spot. I decided the area was small enough it wasn’t worth risking getting stuck and bypassed it, willing to sacrifice the twenty or thirty bushels of grain I couldn’t reach.
We finished the field before the drizzle started, and we drove the machines home in the dark. They looked like two ships brightly illuminated in a sea of darkness.
Farmers all around were begging for help.
Dad had more contract work lined up than we could possibly do, but I had something I needed to do first.
“Dad, I want to take one of the combines and help the Johnsons for a couple of days,” I said as I fueled his machine after we arrived home.
His eyes narrowed. “Did he ask for help?”
“No, but you know he needs it.”
“So do a lot of others.”
“I know.”
Dad and Ken used to be close, but the incident with Ella had driven a wedge between them. “Is he going to pay you?” Dad asked.
“I’m not going to ask him to.”
“Then no. I need the machine out there earning its keep.”
I couldn’t fault Dad for that. “Fine. I’ll pay the contract out of my own pocket.”
His eyes narrowed further. “Did Ella ask you to do this?”
“She doesn’t know anything about it, and neither does he. This is my idea and I want to do it.”
“Boy, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Ken’s worried about his crop. I want to help.”
“What about the others? They’re just as worried.”
“I know, but if I’m willing to pay the contract and somebody has to wait, why does it have to be Ken? We’re neighbors, Dad. You and he used to be friends. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
He glared at me. “You’ll pay the contract?”
“Yeah. I’ll cut you a check as soon as I find out how many acres I work.”
He took a deep breath and huffed it out. “Forget it. Just go, but I want that machine back here the moment his crop is in, understand?”
“I’ll call you the minute we’re done so you can send the header trailer. I’ll go straight to the next contract, and you don’t have to pay me.” He still wasn’t happy, but I’d gotten what I wanted.
“Oh, hell no, you’re not putting that on me. Your mother would rip me a new asshole if I were to do that.”
I smiled. “I’ll square it with her. Once I’ve harvested enough to cover Ken’s contract, you can start paying me. I can sell her on that.”
He sighed again. “No. I should, but you’re my son and, goddamnit, I owe you. I wouldn’t have the crop in without your help. But I’m not paying for the fuel! I draw the line there.”
I grinned. “I’ll make sure it comes back with a full tank of gas.”
“I must be going soft in the head,” he muttered as he turned away.
I grinned as I stood beside the machine. I could tell he was bitching just to bitch.
-oOo-
I left at six the next morning. What I could drive in fifteen minutes in a car would take a couple of hours to complete in the combine. I couldn’t drive it on the roads with the header attached, so I was going to stick to farm tracks and edges of fields.
When I’d talked to Ella last night, I didn’t mention what I was planning because I knew she’d tell her father, and his pride would prevent him from accepting the help. But when I rolled up at their house unannounced, it would be much more difficult for him to turn me away.
Because of the machine’s size, I couldn’t exactly sneak up on the Johnsons, so Ken and Helen were standing by their shop when I rolled to a stop and shut the machine down.
“What are you doing here?” Ken asked as I climbed down from the cab.
“I figured you needed some help.”
“I’ve got it covered.”
“I’m sure you do, but they’re predicting more rain in a couple of days. With my help you can probably get finished before then.”
He held my eyes. “What about your own fields?”
“Finished yesterday.”
“Your dad know about this?”
“You really think I could sneak off with that thing?” I asked as I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the hulking green and yellow machine. I knew I was winning when Helen snickered.
“I could use some help, but so can a lot of others. This has been a tough harvest.”
“Tell me about it. That’s why I’m here.”
“What’s it going to cost me?”
“Fuel,” I replied. If I’d said it would cost nothing, he’d reject my offer out of hand as charity.
“Fuel? That’s it?”
“That’s it. I wouldn’t turn down lunch if you offered it.”
“I think we can handle feeding you,” Helen said.
“Why?” Ken asked.
“Because you need help, you’re the nearest thing we have to a neighbor, and because of old times.”
“Did Ella put you up to this?” he asked, his voice hard.
“She doesn’t know anything about it. So, where are we starting today?”
He looked at his wife and she nodded. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked.
“I ate a biscuit with a piece of sausage in it on the way over.”
She smiled. “I think we can do better than that.”
Ken nodded and waved a hand in invitation. “We were just sitting down to breakfast when I heard you coming. If you don’t mind, I’ll ride out to the field with you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I followed them into their house.
Ken had a little more than half his crop in. After the dew dried, we hit the fields hard, and I figured in a little over a day we’d have his crop completely up if the weather held. We worked as a team, finishing the field he’d been working yesterday before moving to the next. We ran until dark before shutting down. I left the combine in the field and realized there was a flaw in my plan. I had no way to get home.
“Uh, I hate to ask this, but can I bum a ride home?” I asked. Helen had come to get us in a pickup, and I was squeezed into the narrow jump seat in the back.
“I guess,” Ken said with a chuckle. “But you’re staying for supper first, right?”
“Please do, Levi,” Helen said, catching my eyes in the mirror. “It’ll be so good to have you again.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. It’s the least we can do for all your help.”
I smiled. “Then sure. Thanks.” The only thing preventing it from being like old times was Ella wouldn’t be there.
“Supper’s going to be a little later than normal. Ella’s joining us,” Helen said before I’d even completed my thought.
I said nothing, but I’m sure she saw my smile.
When I’d walked in from the field, and Abby found out I was staying for a couple of hours, she’d taken me by the finger and showed me around their house. I smiled at Helen and Ken as she led me around, unaware that’d I’d spent more years in their house than she’d been alive. Abby and I were having a right old conversation with Theodore as she sat in my lap when I saw Ella peek around the corner. I nudged Abby and pointed.
“Mommy!” Abby cried as she hopped down and ran to her mother.
I couldn’t blame her. I wanted to do the same, but I rose and walked at a more dignified pace. She smiled at me as I approached, and when I got close, she placed Abby on the floor.
“And here’s a hug for you,” she said as she pressed herself against me. “Thank you,” she whispered as my arms went around her.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured.
Helen’s cooking was a delicious as ever, and with Ella there, the company couldn’t have been better. When we were finished, Helen rushed us out the door. I placed Abby in her car seat. She was still awake, but she was getting drowsy. I crawled into the passenger side.
“You didn’t have to do this, and you probably shouldn’t have, but thank you all the same,” Ella said as she started her car.
“Everyone needs help this year. As soon as I’m done helping your Dad, I’m off to do some contract work.”
“Mom said you weren’t charging them? Why?”
“Because I’m not doing it for the money.”
“Why are you doing it then?”
“To help him.”
“Thank you for that, but you’re char
ging everyone else, aren’t you?”
“Everyone else isn’t your family.”
“I didn’t ask you to do this!” she protested.
“Did I say you did? I wanted to do this, Ella. I figured it was the least I could do.”
“I thought we’d promised to stop apologizing to each other for what happened.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“That’s bullsh…” I bit off what I was going to say because of little ears in the back. “Bull, and you know it. That’s exactly why you did it.”
“I used to help your dad on the farm sometimes.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Then tell me how.”
She was silent for a moment. “You’re a very frustrating man, you know that?”
“I am, I really am,” I moaned in agreement.
She giggled. “Okay, so long as you know it.” We drove in silence a moment. “Whatever reason you did it, thank you. I know Dad was worried he was going to lose part of the crop.”
“Glad I could help. Someone will come get me in the morning? I think we’ll finish tomorrow, and if I drive myself, I’ll have to figure out a way to get my truck home.”
She glanced at me. “I think Dad’s going to come get you.”
I nodded. “It would be nice if those two could patch things up.”
She whipped the car into our drive and stopped in front of the house. “Having you come home has been the best thing to happen to our family in five years. I think, with a little more time, maybe our families, you and me might even get back to how they were.”
