It’s not “the best of times and the worst of times” like the author penned … but it may be the time when farmers work the hardest with the chance for greatest reward. Harvest. With the first combine that hits the fields, you can smell it. The combination of dust, wheat beards, a few green weeds in the mix. Even with all of the rain, when the time is right, the sun turns the land golden, outlined by the green of other plants outside the wheat field rows. You can hear it. The wind whips through and a million tiny wheat beards brush up against each other. You can also hear another sound, this time of year. The patriotic ritual … the popping of firecrackers in the distance. Farm boys know better, with the chance of wildfire. The wheat straw is eager to burn. There are the memories … greasing the dozens of pulleys and gears on the machinery …

climbing inside the belly of the huge green beast to dig out the beards that clog around the edges of the sieves. The cloud of dust that surrounds the combine. The way a grain truck drives when it is fully loaded … sticking your hand into a truckload of grain to judge the moisture content … taking a handful of fresh wheat grains and chewing them into gum … An army of little black beetles are on the prowl, everywhere. Lizards dart in and out of the field, their color changing with the environment. Outsiders come to town — “wheaties” they’re called — to help capture the grain. Farmers spend their last waking moments checking the market price of the valuable gold in their field. The beautiful rains that nurtured the fields could end it all in the blink of an eye, if too much comes too late … too fast … or if there is hail. So many factors come into play for success. Harvest.