The Season of the Harvest
Written By: Kris Shrontz
‘Twas the season of the harvest,
When all through the fields,
All the farmers were praying for extremely high yields.
The corn cobs were hanging by the stalk with care,
In hopes that the combine soon would be there.
The farmers were all standing around the combines of red,
While visions of long hours danced in their heads.
And Mamma in her carhart and I in my hat,
Had just settled in to get the long season down pat.
When out on the combine there arose such a clatter,
I sprang off the seat to see what was the matter.
Down the ladder I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shields to only find such a gash.
The sun on the crest of the new fallen day,
Gave up the last hope of any good pay.
While my eyes gazed at broken parts with fear,
I could only be grateful it wasn’t a John Deere.
With a crazy driver so lively and quick,
I should have known the corn would not be picked.
More rapid than eagles his bill collectors they came,
And he yelled and shouted and called them all by name:
Out International! Out Becks! Out Ford and Pioneer!
No combine, no corn so no money for John Deere!
Step off of my land before I have to give my wife a call,
Now get out of here! Get out of here! Get out of here y’all!
As the corn did dry, the mechanic did fly,
I fear the dark snow clouds might appear in the sky.
So, I jumped in the pickup and down the road I flew,
With a box full of knives and guards I had no clue.
And then in a twinkling my Chevy was back,
I could only hope my parts were not in lack.
As I drew in my breath and was looking around,
My wife yelled, the new pulley is found.
So, to work I did go with cries of OH NO! And OH GEEZ!
As my carharts were tarnished with dirt and grease.
A bundle of worries I fling off my back,
I looked at the corn with no doubts of lack.
My eyes how the sparkled! My step was so light!
A smile began to spread across my face with delight!
I ran up the ladder and into the cab,
Lowered the head so as not to leave even a dab.
With a whistle and a nod of my head,
Soon all our bills will be paid with dread.
The steering wheel I did grip tight in my hand,
While the combine did hum as I moved across the land.
Cobs did move through the auger with ease,
As his yellow corn kernels filled the bin to please.
I spoke few words as my combine went to work,
Filling all wagons, then turned with a jerk.
As I looked across the field only corn fodder was in a cluster,
My radio began to blare the country song, “International Harvester”
While the tractor and grain cart in tow drove out of sight,
I heard my wife exclaim, “Our corn harvest is finally done tonight!”
