Sorry for the recent radio silence. I’ve been busy driving one of these around. While I know many people these days can simultaneously tweet, blog, facebook, and harvest, the few times I attempted to send text messages I instantly veered off course.
My parents own a farm where I was incredibly lucky to grow up. In addition to having a near endless playground, I also was able to work outside and alongside my parents from a very young age. I drove my first full size tractor at the age of 12. I remember being terrified that I would encounter a cop on my first excursion, as I was two years to young for a school permit and nowhere near full license age.
My parents both work off of the farm, too. My entire childhood my father had no (paid) job off farm, but he developed quite the social streak late in life and when a good opportunity to work with others materialized he jumped on it. This has resulted in him being extra anxious when planting and harvest roll around every year.
I love the farm and especially love harvest. If it weren’t for the winters and lack of international airport, I would happily live on there. So, when he asked if I might be willing to come back to harvest, I did not hesitate to book my plane ticket. My still jobless state combined with D’s recent ridiculous schedule made this the perfect opportunity. I spent quality time with my parents, ate s’mores, visited my in-laws (parents, sister, and grandmother), got to be in the country at one of my favorite times of the year, sampled every version of a pumpkin spice latte that our nearby big town has to offer, and best of all we finished soybean harvest right before I flew back.