The Times - Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley

Editor's Note: Gary Hofer regularly writes a column titled Crops for the Times. For our Harvest Edition, we asked him to write about what it was like working harvest when he was a young boy. Enjoy his play-by- play recap.

WAITSBURG -- In 1959 and 1960 it took a big crew and many machines to harvest a large crop. Our crew then manned three to five combines and five to six wheat trucks, plus a fuel truck, trap wagon, various pickup trucks and a tractor with pull-chains to res­cue combines or trucks that got stuck. Today, with one big combine, a grain cart behind a big diesel wheel tractor and a semi-truck with a couple of trailers, three can do the work of 15 -- all with air-conditioning and iTunes. The biggest dif­ference, though, is the food! Harvest once meant three big, hot meals served to the whole crew together every day, along with tall tales and other good humored stories.

One Day at Harvest Time

It's 5 a.m., August 1968 -- dark, chilly. I smell the bacon and coffee wafting from the kitchen.

"HEY - BOYS - let's go!"

The bed is warm and nice, but it's get up or miss break­fast. I discovered that if I skip breakfast, by about 10 a.m. I'm hungry enough to eat an old boot and I can't stop thinkin' about food, so I hustle to the breakfast table. Most of the 14-member crew is already there. It's pan­cakes or biscuits and gravy, eggs, bacon or pork chops, toast, fried potatoes with ketchup, canned peaches, orange juice or coffee. It's a king's breakfast. Save the old boot for later.

It's very important to re­member my gallon thermos for water. The screen door creaks and slaps shut on the way out. It's cold out and there is no trace of cloud in the deep blue sky. I wear three layers of shirts: a t-shirt, flannel long sleeve, sweatshirt and long blue jeans. Shorts are not good in the harvest field because there are too many hot metal edges and other scratchies. I wear my John Deere baseball cap so I can see combine drivers wave for a truck when it's full. They say someday we will have two-way radios in the field, but for now, it's a hand wave and whistle or sometimes they jump up and down with red faces, whirling their arms violently.

We crowd into the pickup trucks and head out to combine camp. The smallest guy has to sit in middle with stick-shift between his knees. An AM radio farm show is on with wheat prices. And soon, we're bouncing into camp. There is a lot to do before combines can roll. The machines are parked tail-in around the trap wagon with grease-guns, oil barrel, air compressor, filters, tools, parts, water for radiators and batteries. The first job is start up the compressor to run the grease-guns. I grab a gun and grease a combine: header (new­est is 18-footer), axles, wheel spindles, pulley bearings, pivot arms. I check belts, pulleys and chains for tension or loose parts and use the compressor to blow off any piles of chaff. I next check the engine oil, water levels and tires, blow out air filters and chaff screen and get on to the next machine. With the combines done, we get the trucks ready to roll.

The trucks that were filled with wheat at quittin' time last night (it was too late to go to elevator) leave now to be first in line when doors open. Com­bines pull out and head back to the ridge where we were last night. Trucks anticipate strate­gic positions where combines will be full. The first combine into the wheat runs 100 feet, then stops to make sure the wheat is thrashing completely. Some days, the early morning dew on wheat heads makes them too "tough," leaving un- thrashed heads in bulk tank and too much moisture to be accepted at elevator. Too tough means - quick nap time! Every­thing is held up for 20 minutes or so until we check again.

The first combine starts up -- time to go-go-go. Loading on-the-go if the ground is level saves time and keeps the header moving in the wheat. Every minute stopped is a minute more until harvest is done and the wheat is safe in the bin.

It takes about three com­bine dumps to fill a truck. The elevator is 10 minutes, maybe 45 minutes away, depending on where we are. At the co-op elevator, I may have to wait in line with many others. If I fall asleep, I will lose my place in line. When I'm on deck, I get up on the wheat tank to roll back the tarp. I pull the truck onto the scale, wait for signal, then open traps on the belly of the truck to let wheat cascade into pit. The warehouse man fills a tin cup on a stick with wheat to sample this load. I throw the carbon copy of the scale ticket showing gross, tare and net with lot name and number into the glove box and head back to field.

Back at the field, there is al­ready a combine stopped, wait­ing for a truck. I get under the spout quickly, then anticipate the next full combine. If I can be in the right spot early enough, I can take a few minutes to have a drink of water, rest and read "Mad Magazine." When the truck is full, I park and climb into the tank, pushing the wheat into corners with big, flat grain shovel and roll the tarp from the head of the tank to back, hook it down in back with baling wire and head back to elevator.

I can run six or 10 loads per day, depending on how close the elevator is. Sometimes the route from field to elevator crosses through town, so I might stop quickly and run into store for quart of cold chocolate milk or cream soda, then pass the city pool and wave at the girls.

At lunchtime, all of the crew members pile into pickups and the whole crew heads to the house for lunch. It's iced tea, roast beef with noodles or biscuits with gravy, Kool-aid "goop," salad, cookies, more iced tea and cherry pie.

At 4:30 p.m., the sun is still high and hot and com­bine no. 4 has a problem. It's a slipped feeder chain in the header throat. He's plugged up and needs a helper to work from underneath, pulling out the plugged weeds and straw while he turns the sprocket from above with a big wrench. That lucky helper is me! I get to lie on the ground and pull tightly packed straw, tarweed and thistles out onto my head through a trap door along with chaff and dirt.

With the combine back in the wheat, I'm back in my truck and now itchy. I let a little water run from the thermos spout down the back of my neck. Now it's mud, but it feels good!

As the sun gets lower, we start to calculate. The elevator closes at 8 p.m., and it'll be a problem in the morning if all the trucks are full.

It's time to quit. The ma­chines all run up to the trap wagon and shut down. As each engine loses its last few RPMs on throttle down, right at the end it goes "pop!" Then it's so quiet you can hear your ears ringing. Tired and dusty, we once again crowd into the pickup and head back to the house for supper.

A quick, cool shower fol­lowed by a hot rinse soothes the tarweed itch.

Supper with the whole crew is grand. Spaghetti with lots of sausages in the sauce, maybe ham or roast beef, iced tea, fresh bread and butter, green goop (Kool-Aid), green beans or peas, and for dessert, apple pie with vanilla ice cream, or gelatin with bananas in it and whipped cream.

Some crew members sleep on cots in the yard or in the ga­rage, some head for home if it's close enough. I sit on the back step and listen to the crickets in the cool, quiet evening for about 10 minutes. It's 10 p.m. and 5 a.m. comes soon. I turn on the electric fan and fall into bed, take a deep breath and turn the lights out.

Before I know ithellip;

...HEY BOYS!...let's go!