Labor-saving agricultural technology makes physical work easier on the farm. But it leaves behind time-honored traditions, permanently changing the sociology of farm life. A prime example is the invention of the combine, the word itself a verb changed into a noun representing a machine that combines the operations of cutting and threshing grain.
In this neck of the woods, we always pronounced it "thrashing," with a short "a." I was surprised when I first saw the written word spelled with an "e." Only uninitiated city folks pronounced it funny that way.
August, mid 20th century, upper Midwest: The rural landscape is dotted with fields of alfalfa, corn well into the tassel stage, and oat shocks, each shock containing about nine bundles. Oats were never considered a "money crop," around here, but rather what economists technically refer to as a complementary enterprise. Oats served as the cover crop necessary for the first year of emerging alfalfa that is crucial to dairy farming. The grain itself served as feed for cows, hogs, and chickens common to every farm around here at that time. The straw served as bedding for cattle and for similar use in hog and chicken houses.
Cutting oats with the binder and shocking it was mainly done by individual farmers. However, since my dad had a well functioning eight foot binder, we sometimes cut some neighbors' oats in return for help in shocking.
Threshing was a cooperative neighborhood affair. One guy owned the threshing machine and a group of farmers formed a "threshing ring," and went around the ring, a farm at a time, getting the job done, the oats in the bin and straw in the barn.
A full crew required from 10 to 12 men and a few kids. There would be at least four wagons - two would load in the fields while two were unloading into the threshing machine. It required two pitchers, one each, to pitch bundles onto the wagons as the loaders skillfully stacked the bundles into huge loads.
Depending on the ease of shoveling oats into the bin, it required three to man the grain trucks - one to manage the oats coming from the machine into the truck, and two to shovel oats from the loaded truck into the bin.
If the straw were blown into a barn, the host farmer had the miserable task of mowing the straw. The guy would come down out of the mow covered with dust and chaff. If the straw was blown outside into a pile, no problem. But if blown into a semi-circular stack, it required a kid to turn the blower as the farmer constructed a neat stack.
And, of course, the machine owner was constantly nearby to monitor it.
During earlier days, horses would pull the wagon from shock to shock in the field as the pitcher pitched bundles onto the wagon. The use of tractors required a driver to pull the wagon from shock to shock. That's where the kids came in. It was our introduction to various makes of tractors. And it was a real thrill for us to actually be part of the crew. There was the inevitable competition regarding who would get to drive the best tractors - some were clearly easier and more fun to drive than others.
When I got older, my job was to pitch. It was physically demanding, but it was clean and away from the noise and dust of the machine. It was a good chance to visit with the loader as I was pitching bundles. We quit thrashing before I had to learn the skill of loading the wagon. That skill is a lost art.
In our threshing ring, Herby Scherer owned the machine, powered by his big Oliver. Fritzi Messmer owned the farm bordering our east sixty acres along highway 69 north of town. Fritzi's perennial goal was to find a renter for his farm that lived up to his exacting standards. Successive renters participating in the ring included Wilbur Wirth and John Pattinson. North, up the road, was Clark Bechtoldt with his twin sons, Nathan and Naman and hired man, Johnny Germann. Farther up the road was Fred Brunkow and his sons, Walt, and Bobby, one of my classmates.
At one point, we had Billy Lehr, his daughter, Yvonne, another of my classmates. Lawrence Pest, who rented my uncle Hank Marty's farm, was in that crew. Coming down the gravel road paralleling Highway 69 was Hank Leuzinger. The farm bordering our main 160 acres was owned by John Hauser. His renters included Ticky Kubly and, later, Albert Heimann. The John Waelti farm rounded out our threshing ring of those days.
All those threshing jobs, with the exception of kids driving the tractors, were physically demanding. Perhaps time shrouds the memory, but I recall the farmers all being in good moods and high spirits during threshing time. There was something about men working together to accomplish a task - almost as if it were a social occasion which, in a sense, it really was.
We cannot neglect the women in this traditional scenario. Those threshers' meals are legendary, but real. After a hard forenoon's work in the hot sun, the crew would go into the yard under the shade trees where wash basins, soap and towels were laid out. The crew would wash off the dust, chaff and grime, and vigorously dry their faces with dry towels. Then, the highlight, filing into the house for dinner.
Those dinners were cooperatively prepared by the neighborhood farm wives. And surely, no farm wife would host a dinner for the crew that was less than super.
After hard physical work in the hot sun with a hard-working crew, no ostensibly gourmet meal of the future could begin to match those fabled threshers' dinners.
Next week: More threshing memories.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
In this neck of the woods, we always pronounced it "thrashing," with a short "a." I was surprised when I first saw the written word spelled with an "e." Only uninitiated city folks pronounced it funny that way.
August, mid 20th century, upper Midwest: The rural landscape is dotted with fields of alfalfa, corn well into the tassel stage, and oat shocks, each shock containing about nine bundles. Oats were never considered a "money crop," around here, but rather what economists technically refer to as a complementary enterprise. Oats served as the cover crop necessary for the first year of emerging alfalfa that is crucial to dairy farming. The grain itself served as feed for cows, hogs, and chickens common to every farm around here at that time. The straw served as bedding for cattle and for similar use in hog and chicken houses.
Cutting oats with the binder and shocking it was mainly done by individual farmers. However, since my dad had a well functioning eight foot binder, we sometimes cut some neighbors' oats in return for help in shocking.
Threshing was a cooperative neighborhood affair. One guy owned the threshing machine and a group of farmers formed a "threshing ring," and went around the ring, a farm at a time, getting the job done, the oats in the bin and straw in the barn.
A full crew required from 10 to 12 men and a few kids. There would be at least four wagons - two would load in the fields while two were unloading into the threshing machine. It required two pitchers, one each, to pitch bundles onto the wagons as the loaders skillfully stacked the bundles into huge loads.
Depending on the ease of shoveling oats into the bin, it required three to man the grain trucks - one to manage the oats coming from the machine into the truck, and two to shovel oats from the loaded truck into the bin.
If the straw were blown into a barn, the host farmer had the miserable task of mowing the straw. The guy would come down out of the mow covered with dust and chaff. If the straw was blown outside into a pile, no problem. But if blown into a semi-circular stack, it required a kid to turn the blower as the farmer constructed a neat stack.
And, of course, the machine owner was constantly nearby to monitor it.
During earlier days, horses would pull the wagon from shock to shock in the field as the pitcher pitched bundles onto the wagon. The use of tractors required a driver to pull the wagon from shock to shock. That's where the kids came in. It was our introduction to various makes of tractors. And it was a real thrill for us to actually be part of the crew. There was the inevitable competition regarding who would get to drive the best tractors - some were clearly easier and more fun to drive than others.
When I got older, my job was to pitch. It was physically demanding, but it was clean and away from the noise and dust of the machine. It was a good chance to visit with the loader as I was pitching bundles. We quit thrashing before I had to learn the skill of loading the wagon. That skill is a lost art.
In our threshing ring, Herby Scherer owned the machine, powered by his big Oliver. Fritzi Messmer owned the farm bordering our east sixty acres along highway 69 north of town. Fritzi's perennial goal was to find a renter for his farm that lived up to his exacting standards. Successive renters participating in the ring included Wilbur Wirth and John Pattinson. North, up the road, was Clark Bechtoldt with his twin sons, Nathan and Naman and hired man, Johnny Germann. Farther up the road was Fred Brunkow and his sons, Walt, and Bobby, one of my classmates.
At one point, we had Billy Lehr, his daughter, Yvonne, another of my classmates. Lawrence Pest, who rented my uncle Hank Marty's farm, was in that crew. Coming down the gravel road paralleling Highway 69 was Hank Leuzinger. The farm bordering our main 160 acres was owned by John Hauser. His renters included Ticky Kubly and, later, Albert Heimann. The John Waelti farm rounded out our threshing ring of those days.
All those threshing jobs, with the exception of kids driving the tractors, were physically demanding. Perhaps time shrouds the memory, but I recall the farmers all being in good moods and high spirits during threshing time. There was something about men working together to accomplish a task - almost as if it were a social occasion which, in a sense, it really was.
We cannot neglect the women in this traditional scenario. Those threshers' meals are legendary, but real. After a hard forenoon's work in the hot sun, the crew would go into the yard under the shade trees where wash basins, soap and towels were laid out. The crew would wash off the dust, chaff and grime, and vigorously dry their faces with dry towels. Then, the highlight, filing into the house for dinner.
Those dinners were cooperatively prepared by the neighborhood farm wives. And surely, no farm wife would host a dinner for the crew that was less than super.
After hard physical work in the hot sun with a hard-working crew, no ostensibly gourmet meal of the future could begin to match those fabled threshers' dinners.
Next week: More threshing memories.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
