Poem

Harvest Time

The sun starts rising in Va. at six o’clock a.m.
Time to go out in the fields before it gets hot.
We welcome the rain for the dry crops.

My Dad was a farmer, and during the fall,
He gathered up the wheat that was three feet tall.

Used a baler to roll up and cut the hay.
After tying them up with poly twine knots,
Unloading it into the barn during weekdays,
He rode his tractor until noon he was gone.

All day in the fields before he came home.

The yellow corn was shred off of the stalks,
Where you could buy a bushel worth of potatoes,
Then hauled off in a truck along with,
Pumpkins, cucumbers, squash and tomatoes.

Taken to a harvest festival outside of town,
Where most of the people would gather around.

To buy the vegetables that were home grown.

The women canned them into mason jars.
In order for them to have food all winter long.

Then at the kitchen table my mother would pray,
For a great season of harvest for this year,
Most of all for “Thanksgiving,” now that it’s here.

– Nancy Lee Armstrong