WHEAT HARVEST, JULY 4TH, AND HOMEMADE ICE CREAM

LIFE ON A NEBRASKA FARM



To My Grandkids with Love

Nothing can quite compare to the excitement and joy that comes to a farmer when the anticipated time comes to bring in those beautiful golden colored berries of wheat. On our farm there were other things that kept us working through the year, but our main crop and source of income was wheat.

There were other crops such as, corn, Milo, and occasionally oats, but our land was mostly prepared each fall for winter wheat. The seed was dormant through the winter and then came to new life in the spring. We had a few pigs, cattle, chickens and sometimes a riding pony. All of these kept your great grandpa Ralph pretty busy too. Thanks to a government program for farmers during depression years we did have 8 or 10 cows to provide us with a steady income by way of “cream checks”.

I was proud of the fact that one time my dad told company that I was a very good milker! Since he seldom complemented me I have always remembered that. After bringing the milk in we had what we called a separator dividing the cream from the milk. Once a week we would send the cream in large cream cans via the railroad to a company in eastern Nebraska. They in turn would send us back a check regularly for it’s worth. The pigs and chickens were mostly for our food supply.

When the crops were good we were not so dependent on other sources of income, but since we relied totally on the weather there were years that there would be crop failures due to drought, wind, grasshoppers, or hail. How we dreaded to see those dark clouds looming up from the west. In five minutes, one storm could wipe out a beautiful field of wheat that was almost ready to reap. Hail was probably our worst enemy. Drought and grasshoppers seemed to go together and years went by in the ‘30’s when there was nothing but dust and grasshoppers.

I was too young to sense the pain my father must have experienced with a wife and six children to feed. . He wouldn’t say a lot but I have a mental picture of him sitting by our dining room window watching his topsoil go down the road. These were very hard times and at some time I would like to write about the famous dust bowl years in the Midwest.

However, for the rest I want to focus on the good memories I have of harvest time. It usually came sometime during the month of July. The whole family got in to the whirl of activities that took place. I remember what a good mood my father demonstrated as the wheat rolled in to the combine, then to the big trucks, and then was taken to town and sold. If the prices were unacceptable, the grain would be stored either in the granary or a make-do space in the barn. I was usually awarded a small sum of money when the harvest came to a close for “working so hard”.

One of my fondest memories was after a long day some of us kids liked to lay on our backs on a truck load of wheat that was waiting to be unloaded. It would be late in the evening after the stars were clearly out and the day’s work was finished. I remember the feel of the warm wheat on my back and the smell of the freshly harvested grain. Mostly I remember the brightness of the stars, as they had no competition from electric lights or other distractions that we now have. We would watch the falling stars and try to pick out the constellations. We would just lay there and talk kid talk. It is such a sweet memory that I treasure.

I believe it was my first impression of the reality of God and the vastness and the indescribable beauty of his creation. And I truly believed that “the heavens declare the glory of God, the firmament (skies) shows His handiwork”-a verse I had memorized in Sunday School. I think some of these special moments out in nature formed who I am today.
Recently I was so impressed by an author, John Ortberg who wrote, “God is Closer Than You Think”. The title of this particular page was “GOD WAVING HELLO“

He says: “I have been asked by some how I can be so certain in the existence of a good God, and I have asked them in return if they have eyes to see. God. has woven Himself irretrievably into nature. He left His fingerprints behind to show us where He’s been. His presence is smeared into the curls of the Milky Way, forever circling above the rim of the world . . . . .

The entire sum of Creation,- each private and individual act of nature is God WAVING HELLO.”


Your great grandma Nellie, my mom, was always very busy at harvest too. Since she was the chief cook, she not only fed the family but also often extra hired men. The women of our neighborhood would put out their best meals for the extra help. The men hopefully would go back home and tell what good meals they had at the neighbors!

I liked to help with the afternoon lunch that we took out to the field each day. It was a necessity because of the long hours the men kept, usually working from daylight until it was too dark to see. We would go out with iced tea or lemonade, and lots of sandwiches and some kind of dessert such as cake or cookies.

I liked to listen to the men chat about how things were going and how good the yield seemed to be. Or it just might be a lot of jesting, teasing or telling a joke. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. It was a lot of work but oh so gratifying and rewarding.

FOURTH OF JULY

I tend to connect our celebrating this holiday with wheat harvest because often it was near that time that the wheat would be ripe. If it was at the same time the work went on- but usually there was some kind of celebration as my father loved to have a few fireworks. We loved the sparklers and Roman Candles as we were allowed to hold them if we were careful. I guess firecrackers are as old as our country or more. But the most fun were the skyrockets that daddy would shoot using our pig trough This was a long shallow V-shaped receptacle for feeding and watering domestic animals.

Often our relatives on the Nesmith side (my mom) would drive out to our farm and of course my Grandpa and Grandma Nesmith who lived just a quarter of a mile from us were there. Only occasionally were any of the Millers there. Because they all lived further away. Other times friends or a family from the community or our church pastor would come.

HOMEMADE ICE CREAM


Whenever they came in the summer it was expected that there would be homemade ice cream! My dad was famous for his special recipe for it. He loved to be in charge of this operation. He would stand over mom to be sure she had it right as she stirred up the ingredients. It was about eight eggs, a couple of cups of sugar, vanilla, and lots of cream and milk to fill up the gallon container. Very rich but yummy! The old and well-used crank freezer was filled first with the gallon receptacle, then around that he filled in ice that had been crushed from a block. It was layered with rock salt. On goes the top piece that caused the container to turn. It would be placed out in the yard and daddy would sit on it and start cranking.


When it was firm enough, the paddle was taken out and that was the fun part. We usually had an argument on who would get to lick the paddle. Then the lid was replaced, more ice and salt, and it was set in a cool place to get more firm. As company arrived or sometimes while they were already there, when we thought it was hard enough, the feast began! Usually it was prefaced with fried chicken, sweet corn on the cob, potato salad, homemade bread and butter, perhaps garden lettuce or radishes, and other goodies from mom’s kitchen It was no wander that all the relatives and friends loved to come.

A number of years ago, my sister Ila sent me a birthday card with this poem on it and I kept it because it described it just as it was. It was called “Homemade Ice Cream” by Dean Walley.


It seems like only yesterday
When a favorite thing to do
Was find a shady spot in the yard
And make some homemade ice cream

Cranking the freezer and listening
To the sound of rock salt
And ice grinding against the bucket
Is more of a pleasure than a chore,
Because you knew
That when the ice cream was ready
You’d get the first delicious taste.

FYI: This is how you make crushed ice. Take a 10 # block of ice (it was the only form of ice you could buy). Put it in a gunnysack and lay it on cement. Then take an axe and using the back of it start hitting it until it breaks in small pieces. You will have plenty of it for ice cream! :-) Grandma Rita