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The Symphony Of The Seasons (page 4)
THE THRESHERS ARE COMING
One of the highlights of the summer, usually in August, when I was still a barefoot boy, was threshing time.
The grain crops have all been harvested and gathered into the mows in the barn, with the surplus stacked conveniently, just outside on the rampway we called the barnbridge or Barn Hill. Arrangements were made with "Daddy Arrand" and his threshing gang and a date was set. Certain neighbours, with whom we were accustomed to exchange threshings were notified.
On the farm, there was a flurry of activity. Since the threshing process required the use of a steam-powered tractor, we needed to supply the burning fuel, either in the form of soft coal or wood -- usually old fence rails and/or slabs from the local mill. In the kitchen Ma and Auntie would need to be busy planning what to cook. At least 3 fatted roosters were chased, caught and killed ready for the stewing pot. New potatoes were dug in the garden and prepared. They would make a threshing meal that would be proclaimed throughout the neighbourhood as "My, what a meal". For dessert, pies were usual, but Ma was noted for the unusual, in the form of ice cream of a different recipe "Frozen Custard".
The threshers were due to come at about ten A.M.
They came at ten A.M. with their train consisting of a puffing, chugging, steam tractor coupled to the grain separator or "threshing Machine", which in turn was coupled to the caboose. This was followed closely by a team of horses pulling the necessary water tank. The caboose was a portable bunkhouse for the use of the "threshing Gang". The water tank, of course, carried a supply of water necessary to produce the motive power to run all this equipment.
I remember the smell of smoke mingled with steam from the engine boiler, wafted to me as I stood watching excitedly, from a safe place, as this mysterious train made its way up our laneway. It always takes some maneuvering to get this big piece of equipment into the barn ready to operate. In the first place we were required to lay down wood planks on the barn floor where the wheels would run in order to take the extra load. The caboose would be uncoupled and left standing in a convenient spot in the yard while the separator was hauled up the barn hill into the approximate location. With the steam tractor doing the pushing, using a "bunting pole" and two strong men to guide, the thresher was successfully placed in the barn ready for work. After a feeding table was constructed using material from the wagon gravel box, at the front end of the machine, the engine properly positioned and the separator made ready, then they were ready to go.
The neighbours who had been notified had gathered and were standing around leaning on their pitch-forks ready to get at it. The engine would give several toots on its steam whistle and with a chug, chug, chug, the operation was under way.
Daddy Arrand, the boss of the outfit and the engineer, always kept a close watch on the operation of all the equipment and would from time to time check the steam pressure and fuel supply of his steamer.
Inside the barn there was soon a beehive of activity, the machine roared with excitement, the barn filled with choking dust that soon found its way into eyes, noses and clothing. Out in the barnyard a straw stack of golden straw mounted higher and higher. Even there, the air seemed filled with bits of chaff. I tried my best to stay out of the way as I curiously checked every phase of the operation.
After about an hour and a half of fatiguing, sweat-generating work, dinner was announced. The engine gave a delighted little "t-o-o-t", the machinery slowed down, and the men scrambled down from the dusty mow and the feeding table. They made an eager trek to the washup basins and then to the dining table piled high with nourishing thresher food and topped off with a decent-sized dish of Ma's icecream. Each person ate at his own pace. Some gobbled it down, while others took their time to enjoy it.
Back again to the threshing, for another hour or so of dusty, fatiguing labour. For me, at this, my curious, age, this threshing was all very interesting. For the men, in the dusty mow, this was a job that they would be glad to see the last of.
As Pa and Daddy Arrand settled up accounts for the threshing, which was so many dollars for so many bushels threshed, the rest of his gang prepared to get the equipment on the road again, to the next customer somewhere on down the road. For the rest of us Mumas, we had our own cleaning up to do, both in the barn and in the house. For me, most of the excitement was over until the next time. In a few years I was to take an active part in threshing. Hiring out to one of the neighbours rated me two dollars a day. This was normal back then in the 'twenties.
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