Dale’s shift running the swather was finally over. He’d never been so glad to see a truck pull into the field.
He was shirtless when he climbed down from the cab to switch off with his son Jeff. “I had to strip down to stand it in there,” Dale said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his T-shirt before he pulled it on. “If I was a dog, somebody would report this to the SPCA.”
This was the second day the Hansons had been swathing canola with no air conditioning. This was also the second day the service manager at the dealership had said he could send someone out “tomorrow.” With only one swather and two sections of ripening canola, the Hansons couldn’t wait. Dale had been baking in the heat all morning.
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Dale’s father Ed had claimed to be too busy to take a shift in the swather, but he did have time for an opinion. “I can’t believe all this complaining,” Ed said. “I remember when the neighbours thought we were crazy just to pay for a cab.”
“At least you got a breeze without a cab,” Jeff said.
“You could see that breeze, it was so full of dust,” Ed retorted.
“They make these cabs today so the windows don’t open. We can throw the door open, but we’re basically sitting out in the sun in a glass box. We should rent out space to grow tomatoes in there.”
Ed looked disgusted. “Lazing around with your stereos and your drink holders. You kids have no idea.” Then he smelled Dale. “Ah geez. I don’t know if I even want you riding back to the yard in my truck. Hurry up and get in. We should take the combine out and see if that winter wheat is ready to go.”
Jeff carried his cooler up the steps to the cab and took one last breath of outside air. “Elaine tried to get me to bring out a roast in a Tupperware container,” he said. “She thought it might cook faster than in the Crock-Pot.”
Jeff’s wife Elaine had taken her shift in the sauna of the swather the day before, while her mother-in-law watched the kids. Now, Elaine was waiting for her guests to arrive.
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Over the past year, Elaine had been spending more and more time learning about farm policy. She’d joined a farm group’s working committee, made several trips to Saskatoon and Regina for meetings, and stayed up after the kids went to bed so she could read reports and sit in on conference calls. When one of the board members had phoned earlier in the week to ask a favour, Elaine agreed right away.
“A busload of Chinese farmers is stopping by on Tuesday afternoon,” she’d announced that morning when most of the Hansons were out in the shop, looking over the combine. “They’re excited to see a Prairie harvest.” When another Saskatchewan farmer on the schedule had cancelled, the Hansons happened to be near the group’s route.
“A busload?” Ed said. “They’ve got so many people they’re shipping them over by the
“They’re on a learning tour,” Elaine said, more patiently than might have been expected. “They’re stopping to see as many Prairie farms as they can.” Elaine was proud to be included, pleased to have a chance to show off the Hanson farm and to be part of an international farm network.
“They’ll spread disease from coast to coast,” Ed said.
“I checked,” Elaine said. “They’re following protocol. They’ve even got those disposable plastic booties.”
“I don’t like it,” Ed said. “What if they learn something?”
“That’s why they’re coming,” Elaine said.
“Exactly. They’ll go home and grow more wheat. So they won’t have to buy ours.”
The rest of the Hansons weren’t sure exactly how to answer that. They knew Ed was being ridiculous, but it was hard to find a flaw in his logic.
“We’re pretty busy, Elaine,” her father-in-law said. “I’m not sure we have time to be tour guides.”
“They’re bringing their own guide,” Elaine said. “And an interpreter.”
“Elaine and I talked about this, Dad,” Jeff said. “We’ll shut down for 10 or 15 minutes so they can get a good look at the machinery, then we’ll get back to work. It won’t hurt us to take a break. I’m kind of looking forward to showing them how we do things.”
“I’ve heard the rumours in town about how much farmland is being sold to Chinese buyers,” Ed said. “If one of those guys puts his hand up, don’t nod. He might be placing a bid on
Nobody bothered to reply to this.
“The planners at the Chinese Embassy have been giving me a lot of information,” Elaine said. “These people are used to a lot of formal protocol. I told them we’d do the best we can, but they might have to take what they get, visiting a grain farm at harvest.”
“No kidding they’ll take what they get,” Ed said. “I’m not getting all dressed up for a busload of farmers.”
“You’ll be polite, Dad,” Dale said.
“Don’t worry,” Elaine said. “I’ll warn the interpreter not to translate everything she hears! Their driver said they’d be here between 2 and 2:30. I’ll make sure I’m in the yard to meet them, then I’ll phone you guys to let you know when we’re coming out to the field.
The bus pulled into the Hansons’ yard at exactly 2:15.
After she showed them the yard and the machinery in the sheds, Elaine got on the bus and guided the driver out to the south winter wheat field, where she was pleased to see the combine already stopped next to the grain truck. She wasn’t as pleased when she heard Ed and Dale cursing. As Ed used his angriest language to explain how he’d plugged the feederhouse going through a green patch, Elaine watched the young interpreter turn every shade of red, from salmon pink all the way through to fire hydrant. Elaine hoped the woman didn’t understand all of the words he was using.
Elaine was sure things would go better when they went to see Jeff on the swather. He’d phoned her earlier to tell her he’d prepared a talk. “I’ve been repeating it over and over to myself,” he said, “so I’ll get it right. I’ve been thinking so hard, I could barely pay attention to the field! Call me when you’re coming.”
Elaine was so flustered after dealing with Ed, she forgot to phone Jeff. Luckily, the swather was at the edge of the field when Jeff saw the bus, so he pulled over right away.
Once they were off the bus, Elaine faced the group and had the interpreter translate. “This is my husband,” she said proudly. “He’s a fourth-generation farmer, keeping up the family tradition.” Elaine watched the delegates while the translator spoke, but they just stared, open mouthed. One man giggled. A woman pointed. Elaine turned to see Jeff walking toward them, smiling. He’d completely forgotten that while he was practising his speech in the sweltering cab, he’d stripped right down to his faded-green boxer shorts.
Leeann Minogue is the editor of Grainews, a playwright and part of a family grain farm in southeastern Saskatchewan
