Harvest

Harvest

Harvest has come and gone once again. Snow covers our deck but the green grass still peeps through. This year was our first year being involved with actual farm land harvesting. Colby is working for Jason Regehr, running grain cart and other assorted jobs. Pat ended up helping Jason out. And Zach even did a couple weeks of grain cart when they got another combine. We’ve run crazy hours and sleepless nights. It’s good to have the combining done and the rush over.

Harvest and fall have always made me feel nostalgic and sad. Summer is over. The warm days are gone. I can hardly love the long fall days well enough just because I know winter is around the corner. Which is kind of odd, considering I like winter.

I love the garden harvest days, when bowls of ripe tomatoes grace my entrance floor and peppers fill my fridge. I love the stacks of dusty onions and the sink rounded full of washed carrots. I love rows of newly dug potatoes and the stack of corn stalks off to the side of the garden where the cats play.

This year Pat used his tree spade that he made and moved another good bunch of trees from our large tree patch to their rightful spot, a neat row down the shop driveway. Talk about instant gratification.

One evening we all went over to Jason’s for supper with the harvest crew and a large luscious harvest moon hung low on the horizon. One lone black tree spread its barren branches against the moon and dug its feet low down on the horizon.

Rows and rows of brightly colored jars line my pantry. Layers of dust accumulated over the summer need to be washed away. Half my windows are clean and shiny and the other half have spots and dust. Fall always brings me up short with the cleaning and I want to dig deep into the kitchen drawers with rags and water. My freezers are full to almost bursting with bags of sweet corn and large packages of raspberries and saskatoons.

My storage room has huge piles of camping gear that just needs to be put away and sorted and the winter tubs of clothes open and spilling out in the center of the room where the boys have dug frantically in their time of need. Empty jars are stacked all mish-mash, needing sorting as well.

It’s funny how fall can bring a flood of memories just by seeing last years tiny winter boots and the toys and trappings of yesterday's little boys turned men. It’s just life, this time of endings and changes. And there’s so much to be grateful for in these best days of harvest.