by Don Schmick and Don Reich (2008); edited by Richard Scheuerman
About the time we were winding down last year’s Palouse Colony Farm harvest longtime friend Dale Schneidmiller of St. John, Washington, sent me a tattered photograph showing a steam- and horse-powered threshing outfit for which our grandfathers worked over a century ago. One thing led to another and by some chance I found myself driving by the very place where this picture had been taken 108 years earlier just as a pair of high capacity John Deere combines driven by longtime friends, brothers Matt and Nate Klaveno, unloaded grain there into a bank-out wagon. I had my phone camera so snapped the serendipitous shot below.
Don Schmick and Don Reich viewing old harvest photographs
The experience reminded me of a series of visits I had in 2008 with community elders Don Schmick and Don Reich of Colfax about their memories of Depression-era seasons on the farm. While scribbling down their vivid recollections I was struck by the poetry of their expressions. For the summer-harvest segment, they told of “oiled leather collars and shiny hames” used to harness the immense teams of horses and mules, mimicked thresher sounds, and even remembered the names of their beloved draft animals. When I got back home I decided rather than following my usual custom of typing up a verbatim transcript of the interviews, that I would arrange their words in verse using many of the expressions they had wistfully shared. The following stanzas are their “Grand Grain Refrain.”
Harvests Yesterday and Today—Different Times, Identical Location
Lautenschlager & Poffenroth (1911) and Klaveano Brothers Threshing Outfits (2019)
Four miles north of Endicott, Washington
Mend the fences and steepled posts,
Hogwire and three barbed lines
Hold the Herefords from trespassing.
Reassuring early morning barn stall conversation,
Mammoth creatures, tons of muscled horses.
Fanny, Sam, Mable, Hank!
Friendly short names, ready for the season,
Curry-combed backsides, gettin’ into shape,
Easy walks around the yard, settle them colts down,
Oiled leather collars and shiny hames,
Jingling bridles, bits, and rings on shaking heads,
Harness pulled back in small caresses,
Hooked under tails, trace chains and singletrees—
Don’t get kicked. “Send ya ‘cross the barn!”
Hook those reins so they feel your pull,
“Easy now, girl,” and out to wet April fields,
Great hooves, thrown mud, manure, clods.
Find the backland ‘round the draw,
And follow that plow all day long,
Three bottoms behind nine head,
Plowshares shining like silver service,
Five in the back, four out front,
Through sleet and sunburn,
Slicing, turning black earthen braids.
Red-tailed hawks methodically coursing
For mice suddenly set to sprint.
Ten acres a day of snail’s pace standing,
Then harrow those clods before it dries,
Rod-weed the ground and watch that chain;
Singin’ in the dust.
Every day now, Dad on the hillside,
A crisp ear rubbed in hands, ancient ways,
Wisp of breath, chaff explodes, kernels chewed.
All expectant judgment, till one day
Verdict soberly rendered: Ready. And all hands to harvest!
Headers in wheat, experienced pilots,
Sickles singing, ferris-reels combing.
“Don’t fail me now, Fanny and Sam!”
Four on header-boxes, keep straight
As fifty-bushel treasure falls.
Wagons to the derrick, hoedowns pitch.
Mile-long twisted shush belt,
Engine cranked, pops, …pops and runs.
And she moans, galvanized metal moans.
Heaves and bucks and thumps,
Great clamored crashing, ancient dust.
Long-necked oil cans at ready,
Mechanic tends the grinding symphony,
First and second sprockets and chains,
Guns and cans to tighten, grease, and oil.
Then the pulse, the pulse of tumbling gold.
Squeeze it, chew it; great harvest smiles.
Thirty-five cent wheat, figures in dust,
Delicious cool water in gunny-sacked jugs.
Tenders and jigs and flailing sewers,
Sacks stacked and hauled to flat-houses,
Headers and boxers mine, threshers refine,
And then the dew.
Sounds die, teams unhooked,
Thick black coffee, monstrous dinner.
Bindlestiffs in the barn, hayloft hornets,
Bedrolls over straw, exhaustion sleep.
Week after week: The Grand Grain Refrain.