June 13--Wheat - InkSpot.Com

Getting Acquainted

I spend most of my time playing alpha female for my pack of dogs. Lucy (Boston terrier), Harley (chihuahua). Hershey (miniature dachshund) and Jasper (standard schnauzer) are my entertainment and sometimes muses. Jasper is a puppy mill rescue dog and I'm in the intital stages of writing a series of vignettes of his life since the rescue contrasted with eduaction about rescues and puppy mills. I do actually have other interests than writing and my dogs. I love to scrapbook, watch ice hockey, listen to a variety of music genres and reading. My parents both were avid readers and passed that love on to me. I'll read a cereal box if you set it in front of me!

June 13--Wheat

It was my one regret. I never got to see the harvest.

Every other summer my family would go to my grandparent's eastern Colorado wheat farm for a week. As much as I preferred the mountain range far to the west, I remember my excitement as the golden fields came into view for the first time on any given visit.

The heads danced and swayed with the wind that blew through the plains. A dusty-sweet smell mingling the dry air with the grain tickled my nose. I remember feeling the change of season as newly planted wheat grew and matured, waiting for the combines. I imagined the men working and the women cooking to feed them. But I never witnessed it for myself.

But the things I did see!

I would volunteer to make the mile long walk to the mailbox. Wheat fields and very little else every which way the eye could see but once I reached the end of the road, if the day was clear, I could just make out Pikes Peak to the west. My beloved mountains, my connection to Colorado.

Grandma letting me help her gather eggs from the noisy chickens in the coop was a highlight. I remember picking strawberries in her patch. There is nothing like fresh strawberries straight from the plant.

Watching grandpa milk the one milk cow and he and my dad feeding the small herd of beef cattle was a treat for a small town girl who dreamed of living on a farm or ranch. For a few years a horse made an appearance. I wanted so bad to ride it! But mom's fear of my being injured put a stop to that.

I remember climbing on top of the haystack and surveying the farm from my perch. I had run of the place and made full use of my time exploring. Late night trips to the outhouse would rive my mom crazy but was an adventure for me.

Then, my grandparents bought a trailer house and abandoned the old farmhouse. That was when the rattlers appeared. While never discovering their den, my days roaming the farm were over.

I asked about the harvest when I was a little girl. My father never would talk about it. My mother said we'd just be in the way. Later I found out that dad avoided it because my grandpa would dump all the work on my dad. I can't as I blame my dad but I sure would have loved to see just one harvest.

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