Reflections Lounge

As I sit here watching it rain, I keep thinking about harvest.  How on September 1, it should be hot and sunny.  How the combines should be rolling.  How there should be a fine dust in the air from the remnants of the grain and the dust from the trucks that roar on their missions down the gravel roads.  And, I keep thinking about how this harvest I feel disconnected.  For the first time in, well probably forever, this is the longest I have went into the harvest season without so much as even stepping foot in a field.  I'm not sure why that has happened this year.  All I know is it really must change soon.  But, it won't be today.  Today it rains.  

There are certain memories that will forever accompany the word "harvest."  Right now, I keep thinking of one that involves happy hour.  Yes, happy hour.  Who doesn't love happy hour?  Turns out, me.   

I've helped with or done by myself most jobs associated with harvest...drove truck, moved augers, cleaned grain bins, unplugged combines, entertained a mechanic when he was fixing a combine until two o'clock in the morning {ok, that sounds bad, but by entertaining, I mean telling jokes}, drove grain cart, packed lunches, saw my life flash before me when the brakes of the truck up and quit, went on part runs, brought supper {yes, it's supper} out to the field, tarped trucks and had the tarp fly away with me hanging on for dear life to the end, detected and then helped extinguish a combine fire, held many tools during break downs, partook in the feeling of joy, watched with awe the passing of summer and the turning of fall, found Dad-o passed out from heat stroke next to the freezer in the basement, you know, the usual harvest things.  I think the only thing I haven't done is drive combine.  I'm too distractible for that.  It just wouldn't be a good idea.  And, I've never had to make any big decisions about harvest or anything to do with the farm.  And, that's also a very good thing.   

Really though, most harvest days, I was "assigned" to the tractor for grain cart duty.  I like to think it's because I could handle the pressure.  But, it's really probably because it's the one job that doesn't change much and it keeps you busy enough to make sure you stay on task.  You don't have time to get distracted by shiny things.  The grain cart tractor and I became real close friends over the years. 

Such close friends we enjoyed happy hour together in Reflections Lounge every evening when the sun went down.  I called it Reflections Lounge because the tractor lights would reflect off of the loader which caused a problem.  The problem was, after the sun went down, all I saw out the windshield of the tractor was myself.  Yes, I would be driving a tractor and grain cart around a field, dumping combines on the go, and all I could see was myself.  It drove me crazy and it was actually a bit scary.  I'm all about checking the status of my hair and applying lip gloss, but I'm also all about not running into a combine or a truck.  Anyways, I would get on the business ban radio {think Smoky and the Bandit} and would say to anyone that was listening, "It's now happy hour in Reflections Lounge."  And, then I'm sure everyone rolled their eyes because it was a nightly affair and they were sick and tired of hearing about it. 

But, let me just say this, one of the very few times Dad-o had to drive the tractor and grain cart after sunset, he said to me, "Geez Amy, it's really hard to see in there."  It was all I had in me to not say, "Well thank you Captain Obvious."  But, I didn't.  I just said, "Yep, sure is."

Momma Debi also spent her fair share of hours in that tractor and grain cart so she was also extremely familiar with Reflections Lounge.  It's really too bad we couldn't have enjoyed happy hour together.  Now that would have been a good time.  Momma Debi and I could have cranked the tunes and sang our hearts out, party style.  Except, it really would have just been like we were singing into the mirror and why would you do that in a tractor when you could do that in the comfort of your own bathroom?  It just doesn't seem logical.  

Momma Debi and I put up with that tractor and it's reflecting light issue for many, many years.  New combines came and went, a semi was added here, a semi was added there, augers were replaced, grain bins were put up, and yet Momma Debi and I were still enjoying happy hour in Reflections Lounge every evening of harvest.  These are from harvest 2008.  The last harvest of the Reflections Lounge era.  

Here, in the lovely sun lit hours, is Momma Debi with Sister Pister riding shot gun.  They are dumping Dad-o on the go.  It has a nice calm feeling to it because Momma Debi could actually see through the windshield.  

   

And here, we have me and my crazy pony-tail {have I mentioned I have ridiculously curly hair}, starting to feel the panic of the looming sunset.  I probably wanted to scream over the business ban radio at this point, "Ummmm...I need to go home.  NOW.  I have to.  I have a...a...a...stomache ache."  It never worked though.  Except, occasionally Brother would feel sorry for me and help after dark if he could.  Only occasionally.

 

Now this.  This is where I jumped out of the tractor and was truly fearing for my life.  Trying all stall tactics to not have to get back into that tractor knowing that happy hour in Reflections Lounge was imminent.  I'm telling you it was a nightly cause for a panic attack.  If you asked Dad-o, he would probably tell you it was "character building" or something like that.  I like to refer to it as plain old ridiculous.   

Finally, before last year's harvest, that tractor was replaced.  And, Momma Debi was in on the deal.  She's really the one in charge.  So, she said, "The lights better work.  They better work amazing.  They better work so amazing that I will never see myself in the tractor windshield again."  

And, they do.  They work.  It's a good thing too, because a mad Momma Debi doesn't happen very often, but when it does...watch out.  I think it's high time I get out to the field this year and enjoy those working lights.  That is, when it quits raining.  For now, I think I'll just go curl up on the couch.