At intervals the wagon or tractor was moved to keep up with the workers. Every now and then Ron got to do the honors. The look on his face as he sat in the tractor is one I haven't seen for awhile.
Pavel helped with the picking and did runs back to the village to drop off loads.
I started to judge time by how full the wagon was. Thankfully we had cloud cover and a fair breeze during most of the harvest. The one time the clouds disappeared, the wilting of the crew was obvious.
Heather helped a little with picking, but most of the time she was busy at home. The corn needed to be unloaded, and meals needed to be made. Sometimes she had help, and other times not.
When lunch appeared I was more than ready for a break. Homemade farmer's cheese and preserved plum jelly sat well on my bread, and in my stomach. I'm not too fond of the sausages, but most of the worker's dove into them. I was pleased to see waffle cookies for dessert. They remind me of eating snacks with my dad as a kid.
Our picking continued for three days. My views didn't vary during that time, but my job did. I rejected my bag lady status and moved up to picker. Now my shoulder no longer hurt, but my hands felt like they were on fire! I realize now why they used to have a cream called Corn Huskers.
The ride home on the wagon was my favorite part of the job. All that joy and peace God promises seemed to rest on me as I jostled above the fields.
As we arrived home, more good stuff awaited. Heather had prepared the second meal for the workers. Soup got us going, then came the main course. If any stomach space was left, you could have dessert.
This picture shows about 1/4 of the corn we picked.
Just because the corn is in, it doesn't mean the work is done. It all needs to be cleaned, and the stalks in the field have to be cut, wired, and stored.
A few people around here do hire combines to do the harvesting for them. Since H. and P. don't have a place to store the seed or a way to dry it, they choose this route. I guess we are in good company, but I wonder if they hurt as much as I do?