Harvest was generally going well at the Hanson farm. The weather was holding up, the equipment wasn’t breaking down, the yields and quality coming off were a little better than they’d hoped, and Dale had settled into his role as a trucker. Dale was happy. Until Thursday.
It wasn’t even lunchtime when things started to go wrong. Dale had been on the grid road in the tandem truck, halfway out to the canola field, when he’d spotted the moose in the neighbour’s field. He pulled over and reached for his phone to turn on the camera.
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The moose was somehow both majestic and awkward. Dale snapped photos as it casually cleared a fence, loped a few yards, then stopped to look at Dale as if to say, “How’d you like that?”
Dale was transfixed, zooming in for a closer shot before he heard the honking.
His father Ed had been shuffled out of the combine rotation this season, having not fully recovered from the stroke he’d had in the winter. When Dale’s daughter-in-law Elaine climbed up into the cab on the first day of harvest, Ed didn’t say anything; he just looked away. Ed was too depressed to crack jokes about the fact that women were running both of the Hansons’ combines, since Dale’s wife Donna had also taken on the job the year before, and proven to be excellent.
By Week 2, Ed was comfortable enough to make sarcastic comments about how tired he was getting of eating sandwiches for lunch and supper, but Elaine shut that down, telling Ed that the new babysitter had a Crock-Pot full of stew in the house.
Banished from the combine, Ed had taken on the role of gopher, driving to town for parts, moving trucks, and generally helping out anywhere he could. That’s how it came to pass that on this Thursday morning, he was in his red truck, delivering Elaine’s lunch.
Ahead of him, he could see that Dale had pulled over on the road. Slowing down, he soon realized what Dale was up to, then muttered to himself. “Guy thinks he’s David Suzuki. Sitting around enjoying the wildlife while the rest of us work.”
But just when Ed pulled out to pass Dale, the Hansons’ hired man, Mark, came looming up over the hill from the opposite direction. Mark was in the semi, taking the first load of canola back to the yard.
Dale looked up from his phone screen in time to see it. Ed swung close to the path of the grain truck, while Mark edged over as much as he could, although it wasn’t all that far, with so little time to plan and a full load.
The narrow grid could barely fit three vehicles. Mark’s mirror passed right over Ed’s truck.
Then, once Ed was safely past the grain truck, he pulled too quickly back to the right. Dale had about three seconds to picture Ed’s truck rolling into the ditch. But Ed held it straight and got it back under control.
Ed honked angrily, and kept driving. Dale turned to see Mark steadying the load safely back in the centre, and keep driving toward the farm.
Dale turned off his camera. Next time, he’d wait for an approach.
A few hours later Dale was in trouble again.
He’d dumped the truck and was headed back to the field when he saw his grandson Connor jumping on the trampoline by the house. “Want to come to the field?” Dale asked. Connor whooped and yelled and climbed up into the truck before Dale had his window rolled back up.
The two had a great time, picking up a load of canola and looking at bugs in the stubble. Dale took photos of Connor pretending to drive the truck while they waited for a full hopper. Back in the yard, Dale congratulated himself on his safety consciousness, instructing Connor to stay in the truck with his seatbelt buckled while Dale moved the auger and unloaded. “You don’t want to lose any fingers, right Connor?” he’d said.
But Dale’s great afternoon was the 14-year-old babysitter’s worst nightmare.
Allie looked out the kitchen window a few minutes after Dale had picked up Connor. She was calm when there was no bouncing blond boy on the trampoline. She put a sweater on Connor’s toddler sister, still sleepy from her nap, and took Jenny outside. “I think your brother’s in the sandbox,” Allie said.
When Connor wasn’t in the sandbox, or in the treehouse, or riding his bike, Allie started to worry. When he wasn’t in the garden or the shop, panic set in. “Not the dugout. Not the dugout,” she thought to herself as she ran through the yard, dragging Jenny, both of them shouting Connor’s name.
Finally Allie sat down on the step, in tears, and got out her phone. She was about to dial 911, but just as she reached for her screen, the phone rang.
It was Elaine. “Thought I’d check on the kids,” Elaine said. Then she heard Allie sobbing. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Elaine acted fast, immediately picking up the two-way radio in the combine cab. “Has anyone seen Connor?” she called out to everyone on the farm near a radio.
The seconds of silence terrified her, until a little boy’s voice came over the air. “Hi Mommy.” Connor was still in the cab of Dale’s truck, waiting patiently for his grandpa.
Not even the photos of a very cute Connor enjoying the afternoon in the field could save Dale from a severe lecture on the protocols of taking small children from their babysitters, especially on a farm during harvest. Once the babysitter had calmed down and Connor was enjoying a Freezie, Dale was sent back to work. On his own.
At the end of the day, Ed drove his red truck over to where Dale was unloading more canola. “If you’re not too busy taking pictures or kidnapping anybody, can you give me a ride to the combine? I’m going to bring it home. Donna can come back with you.”
Dale was busy doing the mental math, calculating how many bushels they’d collectively put in bins during the day. When they got to the field, he was still adding seven and carrying the four. At the corner of the field where Donna waited with the combine, Ed got out of the truck. Dale waved him off and turned around to drive home. He got to the corner before his phone rang.
“I could ride with your dad in the buddy seat, but I thought you might take me home,” Donna said.
Dale went back to pick up his wife.
“This has been a terrible day,” he told her. “One thing after another.”
Donna laughed. “Dale! Have you been watching the rest of the country? It’s raining every three hours in parts of Alberta. My cousin at Moose Jaw was hailed out. Jeff’s friend from Rosetown is using a mower to clean up his lentils! Meanwhile, things are going fine here! You’ve had time to look at the wildlife and enjoy your grandson! And now you’re driving me home. Like a date. After years of flooding and hail out here, it’s our turn. Let’s enjoy it.”
Dale grinned, and drove his wife back to the yard.
