The Farmer and the Field

 "Here," my Grandpa handed me a new small pair of work gloves, though they were still slightly too large for my small hands, I was proud as punch as I walked along next to him to his field pickup. He was the colony farm boss, he managed the fields, and today he needed all hands on deck as we were baling and bringing the bales back from the field. 

10 year-old me was probably only going to get underfoot, but I jumped into his pickup with glee as together we drove to the field where they had started baling. As my eyes roamed the field I could see the tractor combing through and producing a bale every few meters. My cousin Becky was there with her dad as well as a few others, my dad and youngest brother. My grandpa was a believer in giving life experiences, and how they shaped your life in immeasurable ways. Which is my cousins and I got to tag along with him to check the combines, look at the land, set fire to fields on occasion, see bears in the corn fields, or carry food and coffee  to the field workers not to mention the numerous combine rides.

Hopping out of the pickup I scrambled to keep up with my athletic and lanky grandfather.

"Okay, dindle unt mandle, (girls and boys) you pull the bales or carry them together to the trailer and we will throw them up." He instructed us as he showed us how. Beckie and I ran to the nearest one and huffed and puffed until it was beside the trailer, where my grandpa with one swift motion threw it unto the bed of the trailer. My dad took it, placed it strategically so they could be piled high and not move as they were hauled home. 

Back and forth, hair amiss, faces red, and with glowing smiles and laughter we worked until the field was clean. We all scrambled to climb unto the trailer as we drove across the road to repeat the process. As we reached the field my dad and uncle grabbed opposites ends of the bale I was sitting on and swayed it back and forth. 

"Watch out Jenna, we're going to throw you off." They teased. As I squealed with a mix of delight and fear, they eventually let me down with a laugh and we all went back to work, them chuckling under their breath, and me looking around to see of the other kids had seen. 

As we loaded up the last bale my grandpa pulled out a red icebox filled with beer and soda. As the men stood in a circle talking we too pretended our Pepsi was beer and that we too were grown.  

My grandpa put his hand on one of the bales on the trailer and said "Gott Sei Gedankt, (God be thanked,) and all of you as well." 

Grandpa and I headed home and as the sun was going down my head too rested on my chest as I fell asleep, drowsy from the hot sun and the work. 

Happiness is a hutterite girl with her bonnet slightly lopsided, hair on end standing in the summer sun drinking a soda. As I look back that's what I remember the most, the sheer joy of that day. Not the tiresome work, not the radiant sun, and not the smell of the freshly harvested field, though those are etched in my mind for eternity, it's the happiness that shines through even still.