Frost Harvest Flash-back

Every year, when Jack Frost slinks about and frost then hits, our early years come to mind.

Now, and for a while now, without “real” jobs interfering with farming, we can pace things better. We have day-light and day-time to plan the harvest, move out bins and trailers, and protect what needs protecting. We can cover tender crops and loads in the fields, then uncover them the next morning, when the sun has finally gotten around to warming things up a little.

It is not just the temperature that does the damage. Freezing can damage plant cells, and thawing can add to it. Timing matters. What needs covering, what can wait, what will be all right? You're playing psychic while glued to changing weather reports.

We learned that weeds are our friends. Pumpkins can wait until after the frost. They're easier to see when the weeds are down afterward, and the frost sorts the weak from the strong. Nature is very efficient, not merciful. Apparently, it works. Something to keep in mind.

But we did not know that yet, back then.

It wasn't always so.

We both used to have full-time jobs and small children. They were little troopers, and even had fun with the shenanigans.

We got out of work, often late, since we never did have office hours.

The tarps were already stacked. Buckets, bags, tools, weights, ropes, flashlights, warm clothes. I prepared snacks to go, strong coffee, and a thermos of hot chocolate.

After work, we loaded up both trucks, hooked up the trailers, packed the kids into the back seats with extra blankets, and headed out for the Frost Harvest.

It was a whole operation. Planned, prepared, and executed. There was a job to do, and the weather wasn't going to wait for us.

In the fading daylight, we picked and covered according to plan, as fast as we could. The light faded, the temperature dropped, and darkness came far too quickly. Every year, we seemed to end up finishing in the headlights of the vehicles and tractor, wrapping up the end of the season as best we could.

Corn was often left until last.

It too can take a light to medium frost, just fine.

But we did not know that yet.

By then, we were working in the headlights. Not that they lit up the whole field. They gave us direction. A place to aim for, a way back.

You disappeared into the rows, where the light couldn't reach. Fill the bags. Turn around. Find your way back toward the vehicles, the light growing stronger as you came out, the weight dragging at your back, the bags cutting into your hands.

Unload. Go back in.

Again.

And again.

The rows swallowed you up, and the headlights waited at the other end. You came out carrying something, caught your breath, and went back for more.

There was no mystery about what needed doing. The plan was made. You just kept at it until the work was done, or until the night and the weather decided otherwise.

Twenty to thirty bags of 60+ ears of corn/bag - who is counting. Two people in the dark. That’ll do…

Eventually, we hauled it all home, tucked in the loads, unloaded what couldn't stay out, tucked the kids into bed, and passed out ourselves for a few hours.

The next day, we arranged things so one of us could get to the fields later in the morning to uncover the crops. They needed to breathe and get some light. We also needed to see what had lived and what had not.

Then it was back to work- and putting things up properly.

There was the main event, and usually a couple of follow-ups, depending on how the weather rolled and what was left. The next round meant stripping the things we'd covered to keep them alive another day, or week, or two.

Lots of end-of-season canning happened, too. All between job-work hours, farm-work hours, markets, and taking care of small children who still remember these things as night adventures.

I can't argue.

Adventures they were.

SBH