Are you close to done?
Are you done yet?
When do you think you’ll be done?
These are questions I have been fielding from friends and neighbors as well as asked myself. However, it’s still harvest around here. The guys are still rolling, putting in long days and nights to finish strong.
There is light at the end of the tunnel, and even in the brief moments of conversation my husband and I have at the beginning and the end of the day, I can hear the glimmer of hope for a good finish in his voice.
It is interesting to me, and maybe it’s not just with farmers, but harvest and its progress is a barometer to Joe’s mood. When the going is good, busy, no break downs, etc., his mood is awesome.
Life is grand.
Couple this with the hope that the Cardinals, my husband’s beloved team, are in the World Series, and you’ve got the mood of the century.
Hustling around here is not only harvest related, but game-time determined. I am the runner of the family, but I saw Joe literally sprint from the truck to the shed the other day. Sprint. Joe. Yes, you read that right. However, you have never seen how much hustling around a guy can do in the dark when the satellite wires needed to be jiggled. Joe can leave a lightbulb that has burnt out for weeks, but when our DirecTV was out the other night, just minutes before the first pitch, Joe was out on our roof, wearing his headlamp, cursing the Satellite Gods.
Don’t worry, the wiggling helped, and the game was on…only to be lost in the end.
However, as of today, the series is tied, and like the end of harvest, we can taste a victory. We have had “end of harvest” talks: “When harvest is finished we’ll (fill the blank) get away, get a recliner, get a haircut. I have a feeling that if (when) the Cardinals win the series, I can ask for roughly anything, and at least have it considered…don’t worry, my Pottery Barn couch is circled like the girls have circled the entire Toys R Us catalog.
They guys are demonstrating end of harvest superstitions as well. Just as the red Cardinal ball cap is worn now on game days by Joe, the word break down is not to be uttered, even in jest. Rain is welcome, but only to give the guys a little rest, and possibly fall enough so that the game can be watched. We are not to talk about frost or snow or the possibility of such until the last load has been brought in. I’m also not allowed to joke about Albert Pujols being injured, traded or whatever until the end of the series.
No wonder why I’m stressed out…
Anyway, we’re nearing the end, and that is great. I’m hopeful that the return of my husband will equal the return of my alone trips to the grocery store. With each Redbird home run, win, whatever and a bountiful harvest, nothing can stop us, right?
That is, until next season.