Harvest Moon

During August, when I go to bed at night, I can see the moon thru my bedroom window until tree tops obscure its ceaseless path from view. As the moon loses its crescent shape and becomes rounder, silver light advances into the room until I’m bathed in moonlight. The soft air of summer nights, the murmuring cadence of night insects, and delicate silhouettes caused by moon glow combine to create a mood of enchantment which lingers long after the moon disappears from sight.

I have lovely childhood memories of summer nights when we lived on the asparagus farm. As the months changed from June to July, then August, the nights grew increasingly hot. After dark fell, the family took blankets and pillows out to the yard to enjoy the cooler night air. We clustered the blankets willy- nilly to each other, and each had their favorite pillow. Most of us planned to sleep outdoors, but sometimes we would wake in the night and go back to our beds inside the house.

After we got tired catching fireflies and saving them in jelly jars, Dad might give us riddles to solve or we listened to stories of how Mom met Dad and what their lives were like when they were kids. Sometimes Adeline or I would pretend moonlight magic made us dance and as we circled and twirled in the moon light, we begged Mom to join us. One of my most precious memories is watching Mom as she laughed and danced with moonlight on her face.

When I was fifteen, a farm neighbor hired me to help in the kitchen at harvest time. Their harvest would take three days, with noon meals being served each day. Groups of local farmers would work together, taking turns harvesting each other’s crops. Not all the farmers would own the machinery needed, but the one or two that did, would use them as they moved from farm to farm. Living in the middle of the Corn Belt, I knew how harvest meals were prepared and served, but I had never helped in the work.

I started work at 8 each morning, but the farmer’s wife and another woman started work earlier. Pies had already been baked with several more ready for the oven. Chicken was frying on top of the stove and bread dough was rising, ready to be made into rolls. The two women did the cooking while I fetched and carried and helped at whatever job I was given. The dining table was covered with a white table cloth and matching napkins. Each man’s place setting included bread and butter plate, cup and saucer, and glasses for water and lemonade or iced tea.

Each day the meals were basically the same, platters of fried chicken and baked ham, sweet corn on the cob, bowls of mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed vegetables from the garden along with sliced tomatoes, radishes, scallions and pickles. For dessert there were three kinds of pie, apple, berry and a cream plus a white and a chocolate cake

The men were divided into two shifts for eating, one at 11:30 and one at 12:30. The farmer, his brothers and their sons waited to eat at the second shift, allowing the volunteer workers to eat first. Outside the kitchen door several benches held buckets of water, wash basins, and piles of clean towels so the men could wash up before eating.

The second shift was a duplicate of the first. The women kept the platters and dishes filled, but the men served themselves and passed the foods around. Pies and cakes were also placed on the table so the men could help themselves. They laughed and joked as they ate, but they didn’t linger at the table.

When the meal was over for the men, we three ate and then started the kitchen work. After all the dishes, pots and pans were washed and put away, I was free to go home, but the women made pies to get a head start on the next day’s work.