Neil knew he should be the one to start the neighbour’s combining this year. At seventy-nine, his father’s neck is too arthritic, his reflexes too slow to handle big equipment safely. Especially on the road where newcomers race from their new houses in small towns, back to the city from which they escaped. When he told him, Neil’s dad had looked past him and said nothing. But he nodded. Neil is sure of that.
Still, when he walks behind the equipment shed this morning, Neil is not surprised at what he finds. The combine is gone. So is his dad.
Damn. Neil shakes his head, feeling a twinge in his own neck. He was a fool to think his father would listen. His dad has been helping with harvest since he dropped out of school at sixteen. Driving the combine has been his job for years. He says he wants to die with his boots on, preferably on a day like today when the sun is shining and the smell of fresh straw is in the air. Neil can’t blame him for that. He wants the same thing.
Neil calls his neighbour. “Keep an eye out for Dad. I let him out of my sight for two minutes and he grabbed the combine and ran.”
Larry laughs. “I figured. Saw him stopping by the house a few minutes ago. Probably saying hello to Zach and checking with Barb that he’s headed for the right field.”
“How is Zach anyway? Is he over that stomach bug?”
“Bored. Barb is keeping him home from soccer camp a couple more days.”
“Glad he’s better. Okay, well, sounds like Dad’s fine. I’ll let him run for a while.”
“Not sure you have much choice.”
Talking with Larry soothes the irritation. The two families have worked back and forth for generations. Grandfathers, fathers and now sons have worked through crop failures, equipment breakdowns and too many cycles of low prices to count. Larry’s father is long gone, but Neil remembers helping Larry get him onto the old orange tractor one last time before the cancer took him. He’ll never forget his face as the old man ran his hands over the steering wheel and along the fender. Life is about more than staying safe. Best grab some breakfast and get the wagons going.
Allison figures out what has happened as soon as she sees him at the back door. “He should not be driving,” she snaps.
After 35 years of marriage, Neil knows Allison is more worried than angry. Still, he can’t help himself. “It’s not like I let him, for Christ’s sake. He waited until he knew I was in the barn.”
“He’s getting sneaky. Pretends to agree then does what he wants.”
“That’s new?”
“Not funny. Neil, you know he’s starting to forget things. His house is a mess. And I don’t think he eats anything but toast and beans.”
“Losing Mom has been tough on him.” A picture of his mother flashes in his mind. Neil’s throat closes and his eyes feel wet. He takes a deep breath and pushes the feeling away.
Allison notices and her voice softens. “The last few months have been hard on us all. But you’ve got to get him to see a doctor.”
“Well, he sure won’t go in the middle of harvest.” Neil takes another breath. “I’ll talk to him again when things settle down, okay?”
From the look on her face, Neil knows it’s not okay. But it’s the best he can do.
As he eats, Neil picks up a weekly farm paper. The cover picture looks familiar. Another multi-generational family, proudly standing in front of their brand-new barn. Four generations in jeans, boots and matching farm jackets, including a toddler.
Neil can imagine the story. He sees it in farm magazines, on social media feeds, and even television commercials trying to convince people that every farm is run by a traditional family unit. Grandmother and grandfather are still actively involved. Daughter brought home the perfect son-in-law and a clear plan for expansion. The middle-aged couple in the middle are savouring their achievement – a successful farm passing to another generation. Everyone gets along thanks to shared goals, clear roles and weekly family meetings.
Neil wonders why no one writes his family story. A strong belief his son would not want the farm meant Neil stopped modernizing the operation several years ago. But Ryan did come back. Now he’s twenty-nine and wondering if he made a mistake, as the farm tries to catch up in a world with no tolerance for missteps. Allison has become distant and refuses to talk about it. And now, his father, who transferred the farm with the clear expectation he’d continue to have a role, is struggling to participate. “Bring that up at a family meeting,” he mutters.
“What did you say?” Allison says.
“Nothing.”
It’s just past ten but the heat hits him as soon as he leaves the house. Neil thinks about his father in the combine and hopes the air conditioner is on. He hears the music coming from the shed so he isn’t surprised to find Ryan greasing the grain wagons.
“Grampa beat you to it eh?” Ryan says, not looking up.
Neil reaches for the old radio sitting on the shelf and turns the volume down. When did music get so noisy, he wonders. “I’ll let him go for a while, then kick him off.”
“That’ll work. Like I tried to kick you off last week when you’d been baling all day.”
Neil shrugged. “Field was almost finished. I was fine.”
“Uh huh.”
The song ends and another starts. Neil recognizes it vaguely. Something about fathers and sons and the passage of time.
“By the way, I picked up the oats for cover crop.”
Neil is surprised. “I didn’t know we’d ordered any.”
“Sales guy was in a few weeks ago and I figured I’d just get it done. Guess I forgot to tell you.” Pause. “No big deal, is it?”
Is it? They always discuss the seed order. Not that he’s likely to disagree. Despite his late start, Ryan has a good sense of what works on the farm. For a second, Neil thinks about how he used to talk with his father about the seed order too. And when to start planting and whether to replace a wagon or hope it would last another year. Until somehow, gradually, he stopped. Or at least stopped listening to the answers. Neil looks at his son. “No big deal.”
Ryan stands up and turns toward him. “Okay, that’s done. I’ll run the wagons over to grandpa and then head to work.”
“I can do that.”
“No need.”
About an hour later, Neil’s phone rings. It’s Larry. He sounds breathless and Neil can hear an undercurrent of fear in his voice. “Looks like smoke coming from the back field. We’re headed out. I’ve called the fire department.”
“Dad?”
“Can’t tell anything yet.”
Driving over, Neil can see the dark grey plume rising straight into the cloudless sky. In the field, the combine sits, still partially engulfed in flames. The air smells acrid. Neil spots two figures, silhouettes in denim and work boots, staring at the fire. His heart starts to slow.
Neil tries to look calm. He nods to his neighbour then turns to his father. The old man is shaking, his hands clenching and unclenching. Neil grabs his arm noticing how thin it feels. “You okay?” The old man looks at him. His hands keep moving. In the distance, Neil hears a siren. He places his hand on his father’s back. “It’s okay, Dad. Nothing that can’t be replaced. Come on, let’s sit in the truck for a minute.”
Larry deals with the fire department while Neil calls Allison. “He’s okay……No, I don’t think we need to take him to the hospital.” He looks at the old man sitting beside him and wonders if he’s right. Hunched over, hands clasped, a small cap on his head that looks like it’s made for a child; Neil has never seen his father look so frail. “The important point is that he did make it out. It could have happened to anyone.”
Soon, Larry will come back and say Zach is fine. Neil will be confused. He’ll stare at Larry and notice his face is still pale beneath his tan. He’ll look at the tiny cap on his father’s head and he’ll understand. His head will roar and his gut will drop. But that’s still to come. Right now, he’s thinking about insurance, and whether to try and rent another combine or hire someone else to deal with the crop. He reminds himself that harvest started early. Luckily, he has time.
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(Photo: David Reid/flickr.com/ CC BY-SA 2.0)
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