Memories of Apple Picking

Fall has always been one of my favorite seasons with the start of the new school year, foliage beginning to change and the onset of cooler days and nights. One of our memorable pastimes was to pick apples in a local orchard.

We brought our own containers - a variety of boxes, bushel baskets and tubs. For consistency in measuring how much we picked, the orchard provided their own bushel baskets to use during the picking process, then the apples were gently transferred to our own. It was lucky for us that they could not measure how many apples we managed to eat while picking.

There was an especially bountiful harvest one autumn when my son Jason was six years old. He and I had recently moved back to my hometown after living in the "City", that is, anywhere north of Interstate 80, as far as my Dad was concerned. It was a beautiful cool, crisp day with the sun shining as we drove to the orchard with Mom & Dad.

The trees were just covered with a terrific selection of big juicy apples that year: Jonathans, Red Delicious, Yellow Delicious and McIntosh. Naturally, we had to grab the biggest shiniest ones to taste test before we could begin picking.

As we moved from tree to tree, Jason delighted in running ahead to survey the next target and cry, "Wow, look at all the big ones on THIS tree!" It was so easy to get caught up in the moment of fun & discovery that the four of us ended up picking seven full bushels of apples.

That was a huge amount of apples for us or for anyone. Fortunately, I had an old spare refrigerator in my garage, so we were able to pack it full with the apples that didn't fit into our main refrigerators. With all that food stockpiled, we stuffed ourselves (as well as family, friends and neighbors) with all manner of scrumptious apple delicacies.

The delicious aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filled our house almost every day. We had apple pie, apple crisp, apple cake, apple coffeecake and apple pudding. And still we had more apples.

We had fried apples, caramel apples, taffy apples, apple butter, apple salads, apple muffins and apple dumplings. And still we had more apples.

Jason took brightly polished red and yellow apples to school for his birthday treat, and for his teacher, too. For Christmas, we even hung shiny red apples by ribbons onto our tree. And still we had more apples.

We had enough apples to last us all through that Fall and Winter and into Spring. By the time we had finally finished eating all those apples, I realized two things: 1) an apple a day really does keep the doctor away because we didn’t get sick all winter long, and 2) I never EVER got tired of apples!

Harvest in the Heartland - Part 3

She climbs into the cab of the tractor to begin the long trek to town. She plods along the road with the valuable cargo, keeping a steady speed of around twenty miles an hour. She stays close to the right shoulder of the road as much as possible while carefully avoiding errant mailboxes and telephone poles. A few impatient city slickers honk and glare, or flip her the ” international sign of disrespect” because they are not familiar with the rhythms of farm life. But, fortunately, that is the exception. They don’t understand the need to continually move tractors, wagons and equipment from one field to another, from fields to town or between farmsteads and fields. Townspeople and other farmers share an easy camaraderie embodied in a toot or a beep in friendly recognition, or especially the universal country wave: keeping both hands toward the top of the steering wheel, they raise just the fingers of one hand in salute to the oncoming driver. It is second nature to always be prepared for this sociable gesture when traveling on open roads, regardless of whether or not they actually know the oncoming person.


Farmers need to have the patience of Job, the confidence of an egomaniac and the resilience of a coiled spring, as well as an eternal optimism that they will have a good year next year. Unfortunately, Mother Nature is their arch enemy. The grain growing season begins in early spring with planting. They pray for gentle spring rains and warm weather so the seeds can germinate; too much rain and they may rot in the ground, too little and the newly emerged plants will wither and die. My Mother used to walk out into the field on a regular basis, first to dig up a few newly planted seeds to see if they were sprouting yet, then checking again every few days to marvel at the miracle of new life.

The summer presents weather challenges as well. High temperatures are necessary for corn and soybeans to reach their maximum maturity, but drought conditions and extreme heat will stunt or destroy the crops. Some crop yields can be so dreadfully low that farmers have been known to plow under their fields rather than waste more money on harvesting.

Floods can happen any time of year to wipe out a crop. If it occurs early enough in the spring, and if the water dissipates quickly enough, then the farmer may be able to plant another variety of beans or corn that will mature in a shortened season; unfortunately, these alternate crops will yield significantly less and it is very expensive to replant each field.

As the seasons progress, the farmers closely watch the development of each crop. They keep a sharp eye out for any anomalies in growth, hoping to catch any problems early enough to find a resolution before an entire crop is ruined. Some of the culprits are insects and diseases, such as corn bores that break the stalk off near the ground or rust that blights the crop. Unfortunately, there are no remedies for everything, or they may be cost prohibitive. Once a crop reaches full height, tractors and ground machinery can no longer be used to apply insecticides or treatments, so there will be additional expense to bring in airplanes or helicopters to make the applications.

One of the things I greatly enjoy about flying is to see the patchwork quilt patterns of the farm fields from the air. It is interesting to differentiate between corn, soybeans, hay and wheat. When fields are plowed or disked, the machinery leaves distinctive patterns in the soil. If large green “crop circles” appear, they are most likely the result of water that is delivered via a center-pivot irrigation system. The center of the irrigated area is a stationary point around which the arms of the spigots rotate. Hopefully that explains these huge circular areas, as opposed to the more fanciful concept of visiting alien beings.

Harvest in the Heartland - Part 2

Finally, the unloading is complete and the behemoth turns back toward the field, belches a black cloud of smoke-filled diesel fumes and begins its next slow, circuitous route through the field, dragging the ominous constant rumbling with it. The sudden silence and stillness are eerie. It will be several minutes before the startled crows, starlings, doves and other small animals resume their chatter and go about their business scavenging seeds from the newly barren field. She watches the huge machine creep away to the opposite end of the field. She grabs the thermos and gulps down tepid water, trying to clear her throat, waiting for the ringing in her ears to subside. She licks her parched lips, the taste and gritty texture of residue around her mouth making her cringe when she feels the grit settle onto her teeth.

Farming can be an excellent life, but it also very challenging. No one gets into it or stays in it for the money. Farmers do it to be self-employed, to be independent, to live in open spaces and to enjoy watching things grow. There is a joke about a farmer who wins $10 million in the Lottery. “Oh, good,” he says. “Now I can afford to farm another year.” Not exactly true, but it makes you chuckle at the absurdity.

The harvest season is fraught with risks. When it is tinder dry, there is a huge threat of fire: harvest machines can clog up with stalks, leaves and debris until they overheat and catch fire, while a carelessly thrown match or cigarette can ignite an entire field. Even a bolt of lightning can start a blaze. It is incredibly difficult to fight an inferno when there are no fire hydrants - local volunteer Fire Departments from surrounding communities respond, bringing water with them in their pumper trucks.

One autumn night a few years ago, I was heading home from a town about eighty miles away, driving through the country. I noticed a warm red glow in the distance and thought to myself, “What a glorious sunset we’re going to have tonight.” My stomach lurched when I realized that the radiance was coming from the east. As I drove closer, it became apparent that the source was from a corn field that was aflame. Lord willing, I will never see such a fearsome sight again. Flames shot into the air, surrounded by huge clouds of billowing smoke. The farmer was scrambling ineffectually to create a fire break, while the lone fire truck did its best to slow down the marching blaze. Continuing on towards home, I met several more pumpers arriving. They did not save much of that particular 160 acre field, but they were able to keep it from spreading to the surrounding fields and homes.

Harvest years that are too wet present their own perils: harvest machines, tractors and wagons become mired in the mud, often sunk up to their axles. Even heavy tow trucks can become stuck deep, in which case the largest tow trucks or cranes must be used to pull them out. One year, Wisconsin had a dreadfully wet fall and after fruitless attempts to harvest the corn, many farmers left the crops in the field until the ground froze solid; regrettably, the hard freeze transformed the corn stalks into rods of steel that punctured the tires. The cost of replacing a set of tires on a combine is prohibitive: each of them can run upward from $1500, which would negate most of the profit. The result was that many farmers took a huge loss that year when they had to wait until spring to harvest what little corn was left. Wind, rain, snow and ice all took their bites, along with the wild deer and raccoons that feasted all winter.

What do YOU remember from growing up? Please let me know in Comments.

Harvest in the Heartland - Part 1

The behemoth rolls through the tawny gold field, devouring everything in its ponderous path, spewing out an enormous horizontal whirlwind of chaff, dirt and stalks behind it. Slowly, inexorably it consumes dozens of rows at a time, cutting a swath through stems bursting with soybean pods. In one fell swoop, the machine separates the precious beans from pods and stems, storing them temporarily in its enormous belly.

She stands beside the tractor, waiting for the monster to disgorge its contents into the first grain wagon. The noise is deafening, even though she blocks her ears as best she can. As much as she hates the noise, the grit is even worse. The handkerchief tied across her mouth and nose does essentially nothing to keep the fine grit from permeating her mouth, her nostrils, her throat, her lungs, and even her ears. By the end of the long day, she will feel as if the grit has invaded clear to her eye sockets through every pore of her body. The combination of taste, smell and grubbiness of the grit lingers for days after the harvest is completed, in spite of long, hot showers. She tries to hold back the inevitable coughing fit, at least until the monster moves past her to the second wagon. Sometimes she succeeds, but barely.

I was raised on a fifty-acre farm just outside a small town in central Illinois (the Prairie State). Dad worked long hours as a welder in a factory, plus he farmed corn or beans in his “spare” time. We were within ten miles of a community of about 30,000 and some sixty miles from Chicago, in the middle of the grain heartland and in my mind it was the perfect place to raise a large family. We had the best of both worlds: a wholesome country lifestyle with a strong sense of community and all the urban benefits of good schools and plenty of cultural activities to keep seven kids challenged and out of trouble.

In spite of all the dirt, grime and grunge involved in the harvest, I always loved the Fall season: kids returning to school, cheering for the home team at football games, “leaf peeping” as the trees miraculously transform from boring greens to glorious autumn colors, and watching the harvest progress from field to field, restoring the wide open spaces to the land I love. Once the harvest is complete, we’ll be able to once again enjoy an unobstructed view from horizon to horizon, some ten miles or more in each direction. This is God’s Country and, for me, the best place on Earth to live.

What do YOU remember from growing up? Please let me know in Comments.