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Hanson Acres: Who ordered the parade?

“You OK?” Jeff asked his dad. “You look kind of pale.”

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Published: August 14, 2015

hanson acres

Dale parked the sprayer beside the dugout at the west end of the Hansons’ yard to fill. Before he got started, he walked to the house to refill his water bottle and hunt for a snack. With Donna away camping — for the second time already this summer, Dale grumbled to himself — he wasn’t sure the quality of the snacks in the kitchen would be worth the trip across the yard.

When he came out of the house to get back to work, Dale saw his son Jeff already getting started. Then his father Ed, just arrived from town, drove his truck up near the dugout and parked.

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“Hey Dad,” Jeff said. “Maybe you want to wait around here a few minutes before you start spraying again. I’ve got an agrologist from the seed company coming out to take a look at that canola south of the house.”

“What? Why?” Dale asked, unwrapping his store-bought granola bar. This was far from his top choice for a snack. He was wondering if he was going to have to learn to bake.

“We’ve got a real bad patch out there,” Jeff said. “Pretty big spot where nothing came up. Right by the road. And worse yet, right by where that new seed rep, Allison, put her sign in the ground.”

Ed was annoyed. “If I’d planted that field, everybody would just figure the old guy missed a spot with the seeder,” he complained.

Jeff ignored his grandfather. Dale had seeded that field, and Jeff had never known his father to screw up like this. And if Dale had missed a spot that big, in that location, surely he would have said something.

“I looked online,” Jeff told Dale. “I found a Grainews article that says wireworm damage can sometimes look like a seeder miss. I’m going to make some bait balls.”

“Bait balls?” Ed snorted and headed for his truck. “You want to attract more of them?”

“It’s a way to count them, Grandpa. If we’ve got a problem, we need to know how big it is.”

“You kids think you have the answers to everything. Right on your phones. I’m going to make myself a coffee.” Ever since Ed’s new girlfriend had brought over a one-cup coffee maker and a year’s supply of mochaccino, Ed had been drinking enough coffee to make himself a little dizzy almost every day.

“You mind finishing this, Dad?” Jeff asked Dale, who hadn’t said a word. “I’ve got some things to do before the agrologist gets here.”

“Sure,” Dale said.

“You OK? You look kind of pale.”

“Nope. I’m good.” Dale said.

“So, you’ll wait until they come?”

“They?” Dale asked.

“Allison. The agrologist. A couple of corporate bigwigs who happen to be in the area.”

“Great,” Dale said.

“So you’ll wait?” Jeff said.

“You know head office guys. They’ll be late. I can likely finish that east quarter before they get here.”

“OK,” Jeff said. “Grandpa and I’ll run your truck out to the field so you can get back here quick when you see them.”

“Yup.”

“You’re sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine.” Dale finished filling, then climbed into the cab.

He had been fine before Jeff came along. In fact, everything had been going so well for the past few weeks, he’d forgotten all about what happened in that field south of the house.

Dale had been trying to get over his broken ankle. He’d kept working, even with the pain. He didn’t need the neighbours thinking he was too old to get back to work after an injury. After he’d stopped to load more seed right near a power pole, the field had been a little wetter than he had expected. While he was trying to skirt by the pole, Ralph came by on the road with the grader, waving. Dale’s phone rang. An alarm went off in the cab. And Dale banged his sore ankle on the steering column. When the smoke cleared, Dale realized he’d forgotten to turn the fan back on after he filled. He’d travelled 30 feet with no seed going into the ground.

He’d considered going back to fix the problem, but he didn’t want to rut up the field worse than it already was. And, if he tried his luck in that spot again, he might get the tractor stuck.

Of course he’d meant to tell Jeff. And Ed. Even the seed rep. But the day it happened, Dale was still in pain. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed as soon as he got out of the cab. The next day it rained, and he hadn’t even seen Jeff or Ed. By Day 3, too much time had passed. It would have just been embarrassing to bring it up. And he should have told Allison. But he hadn’t been home the day she’d stopped in to pound her sign into the ground, and he couldn’t imagine phoning her up and explaining why she should drive back out and pull the sign out again.

But now what?

It would be a pretty lucky coincidence if Jeff’s bait balls actually lured in a wireworm in that particular spot.

Dale picked bits of quinoa seed out of his teeth while he sprayed the field and kept an eye out for trucks in the farm driveway. “What kind of granola bars is Donna buying, anyway?” he grumbled to himself. “Is the whole world against me?”

Then he saw them. Not one, but two corporate trucks pulled into the yard. Dale kept spraying while Jeff came out of the shop to greet them, then got into his truck with Ed to lead the way to the problem area.

Dale reluctantly drove his sprayer to the edge of the field where Jeff had parked his truck. As he drove near the canola field, he counted seven people dressed in matching corporate shirts, huddled around the seed sign with Jeff and Ed. Ralph had been going by on the grader, again, and stopped to see what all the fuss was about. Jim Callum had slowed his truck to a stop by the side of the grid road to see what was going on in the Hansons’ field.

Dale’s stomach churned. “Damn granola bar. Of course Donna’s away camping, just when I need a decent snack.”

What was he going to tell these guys? How could he explain why he hadn’t said anything? Lying wouldn’t work. Three of the corporate guys were already kneeling in the dirt, digging around for ungerminated seeds.

Would Jeff ever let him seed anything again? How much fun would Ralph and Jim Callum have, telling all the neighbours how badly Dale had screwed up?

Dale slowed down to pull into the closest approach. Ralph waved. Dale scraped another quinoa seed out of a back molar. He saw Allison kneel down to join her co-workers in their futile search for seeds.

Dale shook his head. Then he hit the gas and drove right on by, looking the other way. He fiddled with the display on the dash and made a call on his hands-free phone. “Donna, you still at the lake? Where’s your campsite, anyway?”

About The Author

Leeann Minogue

Leeann Minogue

Leeann Minogue is a writer and part of a family farm in southeast Saskatchewan.

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