Combine Training Day

“So, this is the steering wheel, Scotty,” Dale explained with mock seriousness to his second son. 

“Thanks Dad,” the teenager replied with a smile on his face.

Scott looked through the slanted, glass window as five rows of corn were being pulled, simultaneously, stalk by stalk, into the broad corn head of the old Allis Chalmers Gleaner model K Combine. The movement of the stalks was somehow both fluid and jerky, both violent and mesmerizing. The teenager's eyes locked onto the pointed paddle housing of the center corn head as the paddles guided each stock into the cutting bar. He glanced through the rear window at the crumpled ear-less stalks that were left behind. From his vantage point, beside the driver seat and just inside the open cab door, he had an exhilarating view of the complex machinery at work. 

It was harvesting time. The rolling hills of the one hundred acre, family farm were covered with crops of various colors ranging from the vibrant green of the distant alfalfa fields to the grayish brown of the adjacent soy bean field to the golden tan of the corn field surrounding the two Hennings. Scott loved harvest time. There was so much to do and so much heavy equipment with which to do it.

Caleb, Scott's older brother, had just gone off to his freshman year of collage. This meant that Scott, who had up to this point been allowed to avoid a fair amount of the farm responsibility, had to step up. Scott had then endured a veritable crash course in farm equipment operations ranging from the big 1486 International Harvester tractor to the broad headed, New Holland hay-bine. Today, it was combine training day. 

Butterflies danced in the teenagers stomach as he anticipated his turn to operate the heavy piece of equipment. He loved riding shotgun with his dad, but there was something about have his own foot on the clutch that made him feel important.

“Okay,” Dale nodded. “Switch with me, it's your turn.”

With the gleaner still in full harvesting operations, the elder Henning pushed himself up from the padded seat. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and braced himself on the cab wall behind his son's back. Scott slipped into the seat and took the reigns as his father relinquished them. He grasp the steering wheel with both hands and addressed his father.

“How do I stop this thing if I need to?”

Not hearing a response, the amateur operator looked to his left and found, much to his horror that he was very much alone. His father and teacher had apparently abandoned him with only a cursory knowledge of combine operations. Scott looked around frantically for any signs of his missing instructor. Within a few seconds, the teenager's mind was inundated with frantic questions.

“How do I stop this thing? Is dad okay? How do I slow down? What if it pops out of gear and freewheels down the hill? What should I run into to make it stop?” 

All this took place in a matter of a few seconds. Scott jerked his head between the left cab window and open door and the corn head in front of him. He finally caught a glimpse of his dad rolling down the grassy water way directly to the left of the moving combine. He waited on bated breath until Dale pushed himself to his feet and jogged towards the amateurishly piloted vehicle. Scott heaved a sigh of relief as his teacher climbed up the ladder and entered the cab, slightly out of breath.

“Whew,” Dale exhaled with a slight grin on his face. “I lost my footing and took a tumble. How'd you do while I was gone?”

“Well,” Scott replied with some hesitation. “I guess I didn't crash. I would really love to know how to stop this thing, you know, just in case you decide to leave again.”

The two Hennings shared a laugh and the lessons continued for the rest of the afternoon without incident.