|
|
Long, warm days can bring us new insightsA simple tilt of the earth's axis, a wobble in space, is the scientific explanation for longer days and shorter nights in spring and summer; yet, we have evolved to exploit and even embrace the lengthening days as an opportunity to provide for our needs and survive another year. The length of days starts slowly, hardly enough to notice, then begins to run at a faster and faster pace with most of the advance and decline in hours of sunlight coming in the four months from May through August. The longer days coincide with warming of the soil and growth of crops. It is a time when all things driven by the sun put forth their fruit. It is a time for man to stand early, run long and finish late. A custom harvester working northward uses the long days to great advantage, as he not only pushes into the late evening but into latitudes where the sun seems to move across the sky rather than toward the horizon. A market gardener begins his picking at daylight on Friday and carries into the evening with final preparation for an early run to his stall on a city street. When asked if he's tired from the effort of his labor, he smiles and says: "There'll be plenty of time to sleep when winter comes." It's hard to meet the first soft light of a new summer day when your work ended late on the previous evening. The coolest time seems to be just as the first orange glow comes to the eastern sky. The wind is low, or completely gone, but one can feel what kind of day lies ahead just by the heat in the ground and the humidity in the air. Work starts early, in summer. For many, it is by necessity as the day can ratchet up to triple-digit heat and efficiency goes down for the manual laborer. In time of harvest, or other pressing field activity, the heat is ignored as the social and economic pressure to remove the crop from harm's way is the common goal. Long days and hot weather bring us face to face with human frailty. We are not creatures who can stand endless hours in the sun. We burn; we dehydrate; and we faint, unless we are seasoned for the task. Long sleeves and big brimmed hats were worn by generations who knew the ravages of the sun. A water bucket or canteen was never far away. In our ancestral days when mechanization only gave minimal assistance to the laborer, the need for many to work in the fields created a special bond between them. Cutting silage, threshing wheat and baling alfalfa were the events of my childhood that were the last of an era when many gathered to do a task that seemed to go faster and easier because of their presence. Last week, I watched as the Living History Farm in Des Moines simulated the hay harvest of 1900. It started with a pair of grey Percheron horses that pulled a clattering John Deere mower. It efficiently cut and folded back the sweet smelling alfalfa, as the farmer maneuvered the horses with gentle commands from the seat of the antique machine. Once the hay had given up most of its moisture to the hot sun, he raked it into long windrows and, when it reached its ideal moisture content, the wagons began to pick it up with a rear mounted hay loader that threw a stream of loose hay up to the workers who placed it with hay forks, while keeping their balance on the growing pile until the load was completed. They unhooked the loader and pulled away as the next wagon took its turn. The work at the barn had its own rhythm as the wagons pulled under the large loft door and the huge hay fork came down to grasp as much as possible. The team pulling the hay up to the loft rail was led away, and the long rope tightened on the pulley as the crinkly dry legume made its way up and into the barn before it was released to fall into the mow and smoothed out by the workers with forks in that hot and dusty enclosure. Had we stopped the advancement of mechanization at this point in time, I think we could have been happy. The labor was hard; the fellowship was uplifting; the food was good; and the rhythm of the season was maintained. But we had no more control over our final destiny than we had over the day length. So we plunged forward into a world where, today, my goddaughter in Alfalfa County, Okla., bales hay into 1,500 pound rectangles that are mechanically hauled to the barn and placed on trucks that take them hundreds of miles to waiting dairy cattle that convert them into milk, that is mechanically extracted and trucked for hundreds of miles to waiting consumers. No matter our mechanization and innovation, the seasons cycle; the time for fieldwork comes, as the days lengthen and decline as summer ends. The workers are fewer and busier than ever. Most have replaced labor with machines and work in relative comfort to complete their tasks. Still, they shoulder great responsibility for keeping their actions in synchronization with the season. The crops must be planted when Mother Nature opens the window and they must be harvested before she closes it again. I stand looking at the orange streaks in the sky as the sun settles below the horizon. I feel the residual heat of the day and see the effects of sunlight and rain. I know that we are here for only a brief period but, in that time, we have a purpose. I connect to my ancestors who had far less assurance in life than we enjoy today. I think of how tiring and satisfying a long day of work can be and how soon the next day will come. I long for yesterday and look forward to tomorrow.
Editor's Note: This is Ken Root's 34th year as an agricultural reporter. He grew up on a small farm in central Oklahoma and started his career as a vocational agriculture teacher. He worked in Oklahoma, Kansas and Missouri as a broadcaster and was the original host of AgriTalk. He has also been the executive director of the National AgriChemical Retailers Association in Washington, D.C. and the National Association of Farm Broadcasters in Kansas City. Ken is now the lead farm broadcaster at WHO and WMT Radio based in Des Moines, Iowa. He has been a columnist for HPJ and Midwest Ag Journal for seven years. 8/18/08 Date: 8/14/08
Copyright/Privacy
Copyright 1995-2011. High Plains Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Any republishing of these pages, including electronic reproduction of the editorial archives or classified advertising, is strictly prohibited. If you have questions or comments you can reach us at High Plains Journal 1500 E. Wyatt Earp Blvd., P.O. Box 760, Dodge City, KS 67801 or call 1-800-452-7171. Email: webmaster@hpj.com |
|
