Ah, harvest
We used to get up every morning and head out to the potato fields with the cob web’s of sleep still in our eyes? I still remember it all too well.
I read another story in last week’s Star-Herald written by a farmer’s daughter who was so like me back then it was scary. She talked of picking on her knees, I used to pick on my knees. She mentioned that by lunch she was 12 rows behind, usually by lunch I was at least 12 rows behind and likely more.
The farmer I worked for had people from the First Nation picking for him too. They had a hot meal at lunch as the matriarch of the family would start cooking about 10:30. While I sat to sandwiches and milk, they had a good hot meal. Then in the afternoon after lunch, one thing we didn’t want to do was pick potatoes. About 4:45 the diggers would stop, and as I sat on the handle of my basket 18 rows behind, here would come a crew to help me pick up before going home.
She mentioned the homemade wooden benches in the back of the old pick-up truck. I thought she had read my mind and yes we had the same kind of benches but … no bumps.
When we got home, shower time, then dinner with the family. I think one of the reasons I hated picking was that at dinner Dad would ask “How many barrels today?” I usually replied, truthfully, 75 or perhaps 80. The number would depend on the variety of potatoes. But no matter what I said, it was never enough. Dad would reply with “You should be able to pick at least a hundred.” Oh well!
I do miss the smells and the friends and the times when we could eat our lunch in the woods. Ah, well those were the days that we will never see again. But when we see the trucks and harvesters and wind rowers, we can sit back and think and remember when …
Guy Woodworth of Presque Isle is a 1973 graduate of Presque Isle High School and a four-year Navy veteran. He and his wife Theresa have two grown sons and five grandchildren. He may be contacted at lightning117_1999@yahoo.com.
