Warning: The following article was composed after a long day in the field and only refers to things that could have happened in that context.
When spring starts, we start planting potatoes. Planting potatoes on a large scale requires a lot of equipment and coordination. No one is left out; it takes every member of the farm to get the crop in as quickly and efficiently as possible. Even if we seem ahead, time is never to be squandered, so meals are taken in the field.
For the last 16 years, I have been, in various capacities, part of the effort. And regardless whether I am cutting seed, greasing equipment or driving a tractor, I am also making sure coffee break gets to the field.
Coffee break is a nearly infamous part of the American work ethic, but the practice has reputable ties to the necessity of sustenance when you are working very hard. Some people might think it is sexist, that on top of the fact I work like a “man” all day I also make sure we’ve got muffins or bagels or, as was the case today, homemade bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches at 10 a.m., while I think it is I who upholds the standard of what I think only a woman is capable of doing.
Coffee break is the moment in the day when we recollect ourselves after the morning push and make plans as to what must be done, and how, to keep the planter moving across the field, setting small, straight hills, turning the plowed earth into corduroy.
This is the first time my rain barrel cistern is dry. My first peas are up; I’m feeling lucky that I planted them deep, but they’d like, and will soon need, water. I have never seen such dry dirt roll past the bright plowshares, and while it’s been nice to tackle the spring planting without waiting for the ground to dry out, it isn’t normal, and it definitely isn’t good. All of us have chapped lips.
It was early afternoon when I pulled in with a seed truck, and positioning the truck means doing a three-point turn—and these trucks don’t have power steering. I pause, check my mirrors, start hauling on the steering wheel and creep backward. The truck creaks and sways like an old cow. Just as I have enough momentum to turn the wheel easily, I have completed this point of the turn and must pull forward while begging the tires back the other way.
It is between the two directions when I’ll take a deep breath and curse, and, as was the case yesterday, notice a weird cloud in the east. My next trip back to the field, the cloud had grown and was now unmistakably smoke.
on Apr 10, 2012