This year, the Lord has blessed us with the most bountiful harvest I can recall. Looking out upon the wheat fields and hay meadows, I am reminded of my sixty-odd years as a farm wife. Today, the fields are planted in the blink of an eye and harvested with the touch of a button. Steel arms and hydraulics have replaced the strong arms of men, and one man can do the work that once required neighbors to come together. Where once we needed one another, now we need no one.
I think of my first threshing season as a farm wife, of men in soiled overalls and women laying billowing red-checked tablecloths over yard tables, and I wonder if this modern way is better. Perhaps the Lord did not wish our harvest to be easy. Perhaps hard work was a gift to gather us together.
I believe it is good for the old to share these experiences with the young people who drive today’s tractors through the fields, reaping harvests in solitude, so that they might understand what we once knew—that the volume of crops brought in is not the only measure of a harvest.