“We never should’ve gone to the lake,” Jeff grumbled.
Way back in August, the Hansons thought they would be finished harvest in record time. After a long stretch of hot, dry days with no breakdowns, they surprised even themselves by shutting down early one day to spend an afternoon and evening at the lake. But two days later, the rain started.
The moisture and humidity kept them out of the field long enough to make all the Hansons nervous.
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“If we hadn’t gone to the lake we’d have that quarter of lentils combined,” Jeff said.
This was the lowest-yielding crop Jeff had grown since he’d started farming, and with the prices for high-quality lentils rising, he was trying to stop himself from calculating how much money it was costing them as that last 160 acres began to downgrade in the rain. And he didn’t want to think about the uncut wheat at all.
“We needed a break,” Jeff’s wife Elaine reminded him. It had only been the first week of September. Some years the Hansons were just getting started by that time of year.
Jeff was unconvinced. “I’ll go find something to do in the shop,” he’d said.
With the kids back in school, Elaine had a free day. “I’m going to the city with your mom,” she told Jeff. “She wants to go to Costco.”
“Costco? You’ll spend what we’re losing on those lentils.” Then he looked embarrassed. “Can you pick up some of those Kirkland chicken wings? And a can of those good peanuts?”
Elaine laughed. “Sure.”
Jeff put on his jacket and walked to the shop. His father, Dale, and their employee, Mark, were already sitting by the coffee machine.
“Well?” Jeff asked. “What’ll we do today? We can’t sit around talking about the election again.”
Mark held up his phone. “Look at this Twitter post,” he said. “Hail, just 20 miles north.”
Jeff and Dale looked at the photo.
“We could go and look,” Dale said.
“Why not?” Jeff said. “I’ll see if John Hunter wants to come.” The Hansons were offering John every chance to take his mind off his low yields and his hay shortage. The rain would be good for next year, but it was too late to keep John’s herd from the auction ring.
Dale dove them to the Hunter’s farm to pick up John, then headed north, all four of them watching for hail damage. Soon they were passing one of Ed Baker’s fields and lentil stubble.
“Wonder how his new combines worked out,” Jeff said. Ed had replaced all five of his combines with a different brand of machine.
“No point asking him,” Dale said.
“Why’s that?” Mark asked.
John answered. “Ed always says things are great. That year it flooded he told everybody his crops loved the moisture. Didn’t mention he only seeded 20 acres.”
“We could take a look at his combine losses,” Jeff suggested.
Checking that nobody was behind them, Dale hit the brakes and backed up to the approach into the field.
“Looks a little slick in here,” Mark said.
“Wet?” Jeff asked. “This year? I wouldn’t know mud if I lost my boot in it.”
They got out of the truck and bent down in the field, inspecting the ground for lentils Ed’s combines had left behind.
Dale spoke first. “These new combines are worse than ours.”
“Lots of lentils here,” Mark said.
“Yeah,” Jeff said. “And… aaah!”
They turned to see Jeff balanced on one leg, one sock-foot up in the air, with his left rubber boot in the ground behind him.
“Jeff, that’s mud,” John said.
Jeff lost his balance and his sock-foot hit the ground. The other men giggled.
Jeff was still trying to reach his boot when another truck pulled into the approach beside Dale’s.
“Damn,” Dale said. “It’s Ed.”
Ed rolled down his window. “Mornin’,” he called.
“Hey there,” Dale answered. “It’s a good drying day.”
“You could use one,” Ed said, nodding at Jeff, who was still trying to get at his boot.
“We wanted to see how your new combines did,” Dale said.
Ed perked up. “Great machines!” Then Ed noticed Mark, still counting lentils in the dirt. “Took a few rounds to get ’em set, but once we got it figured out, they worked great.”
“Sounds good,” Dale said, not believing it.
“You guys have fun,” Ed said, checking his watch, “I need to get going.” He nodded at Jeff before he pulled away. “Good luck with that boot, son.”
“Son,” Jeff muttered as Ed drove away.
The other three men giggled again.
Jeff jammed his mud-covered foot into his boot and they all got into the truck.
“I wonder if he really did get those combines thrashing better,” Mark said.
Dale looked at the rest of them. “We could drive in and look?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said. “You’ll leave tracks.”
“He knows we were here anyway,” Dale said, putting the truck in drive. “We’ll just go in past the headland.” He drove a few yards, then said, “Let’s go a little further in. We’ll get a better sample.”
“Didn’t there used to be a slough around here, back in those wet seasons?” John asked.
“He’s been farming right through here for years,” Dale said.
Dale drove on in, then stopped the truck so they could all get out to check for losses on the ground again. Jeff walked slowly, watching where he stepped.
“Ed was right,” Dale said, searching the ground.
“His combines did a better job than the ones we’re running,” Mark said.
Once they were back in the truck Dale put it in drive and stepped on the gas. The tires spun, throwing mud a dozen feet in the air.
“I thought this spot looked low,” John said.
Soon Dale had the other three men out behind the truck, pushing.
By the time the truck was moving again, the three men were black with mud and Jeff was back down to one boot.
“I can’t believe the mess we made,” Dale moaned. “We’ll have to phone Ed.”
They waited at the approach for a slow-moving SUV to go by on the grid road. But instead, the SUV pulled into the approach right next to them.
“What the heck?” Dale said. “It’s Ed again.”
This time he had a vehicle full of kids. Ed opened the windows and at least eight pairs of eyes fixed on the Hansons’ filthy truck.
Jeff rolled down his window.
“How’d it look?” Ed asked.
“Your combines did a good job,” Jeff admitted. “We, um, made a bit of a mess back there.” He tried changing the subject. “Who’ve you got here?”
“I’m leading the 4H Crop Club,” Ed said. “I brought the kids out for a tour. You guys want to tell the kids what you’re up to?”
Fifteen mortifying minutes later, after answering several questions from the back of the SUV and explaining why it was a bad idea to drive through other people’s wet fields, Dale, Jeff, John and Mark drove home in silence. Back at the shop, Jeff got out slowly, looked at the grimy truck, felt mud squoosh in his boot.
“Damn it,” Jeff said. “We should’ve gone to the lake.”
