Wheat in June

They got the song wrong , you know.  I'm as corny as Kansas in August is really not part of my reality of growing up in Kansas.  But I guess it really would not work to be as wheaty as wheat in June.  In my part of Kansas all I could see growing was wheat, and milo.  The wheat was dominant , and in June it turned the prairies to gold.

I would walk through the jungle of the goldening wheat where it would tickle my chin and graze my neck. I would laugh at Nikki's black and white body porpoising through the strands of grain.  Poor little guy, it was the only way he could see where he was going.

I'd start out about the first of June, and I would venture into the wheat field to test its doneness.  At first it would be predominantly green with the tips barely turning gold.  The kernels would be tiny and soft.  To peel them from the hull was difficult and I would wind up spitting the whole thing out.

In a week the waves began to rustle with gold.  The only green I could see was up close on the stalks and undersides of the leaves.  The grain heads would be bigger, and I could squeeze the soft head out and mash it between my teeth.  It was not the full flavored chunk of hard grain that signaled the harvest.

About this time Daddy would spend his evening out on the porch, watching the clouds form.  One bad wind and hail storm could turn the gold to dust.  A tornado would spell disaster for the whole farm. This was the peak of the thunderstorm season and how ironic it was also harvest time.  I was always strangely comforted by the fact my Daddy stood guard over us on the front porch on those nights.

I can imagine how he must have prayed; first for his family's safety, and then for the harvest.  I never remember my Daddy missing  church on Sundays. I know he had faith in God.  I don't see how else farmers could do it- farm at the whims of nature.