Back when I was a callow youth, July and August meant one thing: harvest.
I drove both truck and combine for several years during high school and college, and learned that each has its pros and cons. Combines had air conditioning but required constant attentiveness; trucks were hot and dirty but offered enough time between loads to down as much as a novel a day. There’s a sense of pride that goes with being a combine driver, but, when you took a truckload of wheat down to the river, there was always a chance you might see a girl. You know, in a swimsuit.
The photo above was taken just a couple of weeks ago. If you squint just so, you can make out a couple of combines and their attendant trucks—they’re the four black specks on the horizon—in one of the very fields I worked 25 years ago.
