‘Tis the Season


‘Tis the season.

You might be imagining office parties, eggnog, corny Santa hats, crowded shopping malls and yuletide carols.  Actually, here on the prairie, ‘Tis the Season has a whole different meaning.  ‘Tis the season for cutting wheat.

DSCN3502lotp2Let’s talk about wheat and wheat cutting…
Out here most of the farmers grow “Winter Wheat”.  Winter Wheat is wheat planted in the fall that overwinters and is harvested the following summer.  Most farmers leave those wheat fields fallow prior to planting them in September.  They are called “summer fallow”.  Wheat could therefore be thought of as a two-year crop since it takes the farmer two seasons to produce one crop of wheat.  Wheat’s harvest time is variable.  It depends on when it is ready. Wheat is a grass.  It starts off green and then “heads out”, i.e., makes wheat berries, and then dies.  We harvest it dead.  The harvest is usually July Fourthish around here.
There is a science to it.  The wheat berries must not be too wet.  We take a sample to the grain elevator in town.  They run it through their special machine and the machine comes up with moisture rating.  The moisture content must be a certain number or lower before we can harvest it.  If the wheat is too moist, it can get moldy or ignite a fire in the grain bin.  (I don’t really understand how moisture can start a fire either, but that’s what they tell me.)  The wheat must also be harvested at a certain humidity.
Wheat cutting involves using the combine.  A combine is a big big piece of farm equipment that combines a reaper, thresher and winnower. Basically the combine is a harvest machine.  We say “cut” wheat because the combine cuts the stalks of wheat, takes the wheat berries off the stalk and spits the straw back out.
Combines are a part of the culture.  My almost-three year old has a speech problem.  He doesn’t even say verbs yet, but he can say “combine” very clearly and point them out.

Wheat cutting is a race, a race against hail.  Wheat is ready in hail season.  A hail storm can level a wheat field in a New York minute.  After the wheat is ready, the race is on.  We hope the combine doesn’t break down.  We hope that it doesn’t hail.  My husband and all the neighboring farmers work on their own respective fields to get the wheat harvested ASAP.  They get up super early in the morning, get in the field as soon as the humidity is right, and work all day until maybe 11 at night.  Combines have headlights.  They don’t stop for lunch.   They take sandwiches or their wives bring them lunch. And dinner.  And snacks.

Do you remember the story of the wheat harvest in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s (affiliate link) The First Four Years ? Almanzo had started to harvest the wheat.  It was a bumper crop, one to surely get them out of debt.  He worked a few minutes and then realized it was too wet to harvest.  He did other farm work that day.  This wheat crop would solve all of their problems.
About three o’clock Manly came in from the barn and said it was going to rain for sure… The sunshine darkened, and the wind sighed and then fell again as it grew darker yet.  Then the wind rose a little, and it grew lighter, but the light was a greenish color.  Then the storm came,  It rained only a little; then hailstones began to fall, at first scattering slowly, then falling thicker and faster while the stones were larger, some of them as large as hens’ eggs…
In just twenty minutes the storm was over, and when they could see as far as the field, the binder was still there but the wheat was lying flat.  “It’s got the wheat, I guess,” Manly said.  But Laura could not speak…
“And now let’s make some ice cream,” Manly said.  “You stir it up, Laura, and I’ll gather up hailstones for ice to freeze it.”
And just like that, their bumper wheat crop was gone.  This was before crop insurance.  They ended up in more debt and after a few more years of trials ultimately left South Dakota.
120 years later, weather is weather and this can still happen.  This is why wheat cutting is still a race, a race against hail.

Wheat is ready at different times in different parts of the country.  Some farmers hire custom harvesters to cut their wheat. Custom harvesters are teams that travel the country, following the wheat season.  They came with a bunch of combines, grain trucks, grain carts, tractors, camping trailers, etc.  They are usually young single men.  A harvest crew passed through Hugo when we were in town for Mass on Sunday and they had six vehicles total, including two tractor trailers that were towing a combine and a grain trailer.  I didn’t have my camera.

For little farmers like us, wheat harvest is the big thing.  (I don’t really understand why harvesting wheat is a bigger deal than harvesting corn or millet, but I guess I’m just the clueless Jersey girl again.)  You know what they say, when in Lincoln County, do as the Lincoln County farmers.  So I’ve embraced “the season” and get as excited as everyone now, even if I’m just acting.  If I act enough, I’ll believe it. The parrellels between cutting wheat and the Christmas season are amazing.

Just like your families don matching sweaters and take the same annual picture by the Christmas tree, I dress the kids alike-ish and take their annual picture in the combine tire.

Vince was born about ten hours after we took the 2011 pictures.  We did not have a wheat harvest in 2013 because of the drought.

Vince was born about ten hours after we took the 2011 pictures.
We did not have a wheat harvest in 2013 because of the drought.

You may be known to the neighbors.
“Did you see the Johnson family’s house?  They put up 147 strands of lights.” will be a typical comment around the Christmas season.
“Did you know that John Smith got 48 bushel [per acre] by Harris?” is a typical comment here around wheat harvest season.  I should add that Harris has probably been dead for 40 years and everybody but me knows where his field is that John Smith bought 35 years ago.

We have a picnic in the field at least once per year.  You have turkey or ham, manicotti and all the fixings for Christmas dinner.  We have bratwurst or taco salad or some kind of other yummy portable goodness.picnic

You take pictures of the festivities. We take field pictures, too.
picnicccc

DSCN3485

You may here the merry voices of carolers off in the distance, jingle bells and Salvation Army Santas ring their bells.  Late into the night, we hear combines humming miles away.

‘Tis the season.

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Posted in Culture Clashes of a Jersey Girl on the Colorado Prairie, Locally Grown, Wheat and tagged , , , , , , , , by with no comments yet.

What Is a Local Farmer?

I’m starting out with a warning: This is my blog and therefore I am expressing my opinions.  You probably disagree with me, and that’s OK.  I believe in that American ideal that we are all entitled to our own opinions.  And, I would probably enjoy a discussion with you about those opinions, as long it is respectful and not personal.  We may disagree, but I still love everyone. 

I’m a Jersey girl.  My idea of a farming community is Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.  Lancaster County is in central Pennsylvania and is the heart of Amish country.  It is a mere 90-ish miles from the Jersey border.  There are many many farmers.  These farmers are Amish, Mennonites and others.  Lancaster County is abound with farmers markets, stores and roadside stands that feature produce, yummy cheeses, jams, pies and such other unique fare.  Granted that I knew they catered to the many tourists that come to gawk at the Amish, but in my Jersey mind that is what a farming community was.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

Enter Laura the Jersey girl into Lincoln County… Lincoln County Colorado is also a farming community.  My first arrival here was after driving straight through from the Poconos, a 1600 mile trip.  I was coming out of one of the most frightening experiences that I have ever had in my whole life: driving through western Kansas in the middle of the night.  I had never seen anything so desolate.  I had never seen a place so open, so treeless, so… frightening.  And then, when I crossed the border into Colorado, which is merely the unastounding 37th Parallel, it felt like I had never left Kansas.  Another 100 miles or so found me in Hugo, Colorado: Wow!  Yeah, I thought, if I wanted to film a horror movie, Hugo would be ideal.  (Well, that was when I was an Eastern Colorado greenhorn.  I now know that there are a lot better places to film a horror movie in Eastern Colorado, like Genoa or the Genoa tower, or Ramah, or Boyero.  Hugo is actually a mecca compared to them. )

Well, you get the point: I was astounded by the farming community of Lincoln County compared to what I thought a farming community was in my mind.

So let’s talk about Lincoln County… Well, let me start out by saying that the people here are great.  I mean really wonderful.  Strangers have literally shown up here to fight fires.  I can count on my neighbors.  They’ll help me to round up my cows when they get out.  They’ll take care of my children in an emergency.  They’ll pick things up for me in Colorado Springs.  They support me, even though, well, I’m a little different.  I truly feel that the Lincoln County residents “got my back”.  So, then what, Laura, is the problem, you say?

My problem is that if I climbed to the top of my roof, I would see fields and fields and pastures and pastures.  I mean talk about local farms:  my locale is surrounded by farms.  So what’s the problem?  Let’s say that I wanted to buy a cow from my neighbor for beef.  Well, good and local, but the closest custom processor is forty miles away.  Let’s say that I go to that local not-very-super-supermarket in town and want to buy flour.  It comes from Pillsbury, and not that farmer-down-the-road’s wheat field. Let’s say that I wanted to buy some grain from the farmer.  Well, there are no longer any organic farms in Lincoln County.  Well how about corn?  Can we say GMO-yeah?

I support my local farmer, as in I support all of my neighbors.  I got their back in the same way that they got mine.  They are wonderful, great people.  But seriously, if I see one more Support Your Local Farmers urging, I may resort to violence (or at least scream).    You know, Local Farmer, I would love to support you.  But you don’t want my support.  You grow GMOs.  You sell cattle at the auction at least 80 miles away.  You sell your commodities to the grain elevator.  Some of your crop is patented, so it would be illegal for you to sell it to me since they make you sign a contract that you won’t.  You grow all the uninteresting things that the local grain elevator takes, even though perhaps other things might grow here also.

I guess what I am trying to say is that for me, my local farmers aren’t local.  Sure they are nearby.  Sure they are wonderful wonderful people.  But, they are not ‘local farmers’.  Thank you, Monsanto.  If you happen to be a local (as in nearby) farmer and I am wrong, please tell me.  I will do my best to support you.  I want to buy your chemical free crops.  I want to buy your non-GMOs.  If I am mistaken about you not wanting my support, please let me know.

My wonderful husband, who grew up out here, doesn’t even see the irony here.  Am I crazy to think it’s ironic to be surrounded by farms, yet not have anything local available to buy?  And even if I wanted to let’s-say-buy-a-cow from you, I must take said cow 40 miles to be processed.    Maybe my husband is right and there is no irony here.  Lancaster, Pennsylvania and Hugo, Colorado are nearly 1600 miles away from each other.  I should just get over it.


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The Fallacy Of Locally Grown

What does locally grown mean? Locally grown is an adjective to describe agricultural products that were grown within a close proximity to you.

There is a big push to “support your local farmer” and “eat locally grown”. I am here to tell you it is all a fallacy. Pushing locally grown foods fails to take into account one big fact: the factory farms and the commodities must be locally grown to somebody. Even those farms all have neighbors.

My little isolate little patch of heaven way out west is surrounded by farms that use chemicals. They grow GMOs. They send their cattle to feedlots. So if I consumed “locally grown” what would I really be consuming? I’d be feeding my family the same things that the “eat locally grown” proponents are against.

LincolnCountyFair

Ha-haha-haha!
The Lincoln County Fair featured a both of local foods. What a good laugh!
Surefine GMO corn flakes? Can we do better than that? Those corn flakes were made of GMO corn that was taken out of the whole commodity system. The cereal was put through an extruder and manufactured someplace far far away. It was then shipped to a warehouse and eventually found itself on a shelf in the supermarket in town. I would say the chance that some of the corn used in that cereal box came from Lincoln County would be like the chance of finding a needle in a hay stack. Can’t we do better than that, Lincoln-County-Fair-booth-putter-togetherers? The truth is that we probably can’t. It’s pathetic, really. It’s the irony of being surrounded by farms and not being able to find anything locally grown. There’s probably some law that all county fairs had to feature some kind of similar booth.  This is sorry.  Even the little “Rocky Mountain Farmers” poster is funny.  Lincoln County is the prairie.  It ain’t no mountain.

 

I think perhaps the eat locally grown movement needs another name.  I’m not sure what that name should be, but I really think that the name is not appropriate.  Look at Lincoln County…


Posted in Locally Grown by with 2 comments.