Wednesday, December 18th, 2019
Dusty Miller stepped down from the cab of the John Deere combine harvester. Her steel-toe work boots thumped on the grated metal steps, the sound lost in the roar from the engine. Her body stiff from sitting for nearly three hours straight, and her mind tired from concentrating lining up the rotating ‘cutting bar’ or header, to cut the wheat stalks. It was important not to miss any of the crop.
Fortunately, this year the crop was good, thick and tall, unlike last year where it was short, which meant the header had to be set very low to the ground and was at risk of getting damaged by rocks. Each stalk’s worth money in the bank, and there was a big need to fill the coffers, the crops were after all, a major income for her farm, Acacia Plains, on the Yorke Peninsula. She’d been running the farm for the last three years since her father died of a heart attack.
In a way, it was just another harvest. But this year was a little different. She wasn’t single.
Nearly a year ago, hot accountant, Blaise Johns, had come into her life, and it was as if her country life collided with his city life in a humungous bang, leaving them attracted to each other.
This year, while going around and around each paddock, first harvesting the barley, and now the durum wheat, her mind easily became distracted with thoughts of him. And their future.
Had he proved himself as a worthy man to work on the land with her?
Bloody hell, he had so much to learn, and while there was an attraction, a brewing love, Dusty simply wasn’t sure Blaise was the right man to commit to. These thoughts had festered during the long hours she’d spent driving the combine. Her time on the header, broken up with the trips in the truck delivering the grain to the silos about thirty minutes away.
She was pleased the barley was given malt grade and not destined for a lower price if graded feed quality for stock. It was a huge job to be doing by herself, and in what was very much a man’s world.
Luckily her neighbor, Aaron Jackson, hadn’t crossed her path. He was still off licking his wounds after she’d sent him packing, and Blaise had punched him one. The problem was that out here, you needed to rely on your neighbors to survive, and she hoped a time wouldn’t come when she might have to call on him for help.
At least Blaise was willing to give things a go, even though it usually meant jobs took much longer since he was still very much clueless.
The niggle returned to her stomach.Would he really stick it out here on the farm with her? It was a hard life, and just because he’d been here for a year, did that mean he would manage a forever? Why did the doubt come up like this?
Hot air blew around her, teasing the loose strands of her light brown hair from the messy bun she’d tied it into this morning before dawn, bringing her attention back to the job at hand. She needed a sample of grain to check the moisture just to be sure. It had been an unusually cool night, and the moisture was a bit iffy this morning. Based on the hot day, she figured everything would be fine. If the moisture was too high, then when delivering the grain to the silos they could refuse it. That would be a disaster. She already had enough doubt floating around in her head, so she figured it was time to test again. Besides, it meant she’d have a bit of a break from sitting at the wheel.
Dusty forced her legs to move, ignoring the mild pins and needles in her right foot, and she made her way to the back of the harvester. The north wind’s breath was strong today, and rattled the cut stalks of the wheat crop she was nearly halfway through harvesting.
The temperature kept increasing, and at this rate, it was soon going to be too hot to keep reaping. With all this machinery, a spark could easily be made, and in this heat with the crop providing fuel, the chance of a spark igniting a fire was a very real one.
So far, the day hadn’t been announced by the Bureau of Meteorology, or the BOM, as being a total fire ban. Because of that, she was out trying to get the last paddock harvested before Christmas. Since Christmas was in a week, time was beginning to go against her.
There was one more paddock to harvest, the one next to this one, and at 250 acres, this was the biggest paddock and was going to take time—more than usual, since the yields were up. But with the hot weather and potential fire bans being put into place, there was a risk that the harvest wouldn’t be finished before Christmas. That was one goal her father had when he was alive—to have the crops reaped by Christmas. Dusty planned on continuing with this expectation. She didn’t manage it last year, but this year she was determined to.
It meant that Christmas felt like Christmas if the harvest was completed, and it meant that she would be more relaxed and could be grateful, instead of worrying about getting it finished before the crops might end up damaged.
This year she’d put in just over the usual thousand acres of barley and wheat crops, choosing yet again not to go with canola as a crop. The yellow flowers it produced were pretty swaying in the paddocks, but the smell, well, it was like dirty socks. Plus, she needed to purchase different machinery to harvest the rapeseed crops of canola, and that was definitely not in the budget. Even with Blaise’s specialized help as an accountant, there had been more of a return at tax time, but like most farms, there was always a need for more money.
Dusty picked up the empty tin she kept tucked away at the back of the combine, climbed up the ladder, her legs now remembering how to move. She opened the little hatch then scooped up some grain. It was looking good with not too much other plant rubbish in with the wheat seeds. Balancing the tin full of seeds, she closed the hatch, and clambered back down to the ground.
She went over to the truck where she kept the moisture testing unit. First, she used an ancient coffee hand grinder, it was what her grandfather had used, or so the story went. She tipped in some seeds, then turned the handle until they were a fine dust. She tipped a little into the machine—the reading was perfect—and she sighed. This was one situation where it was better to be safe than sorry, especially after this morning’s reading. Just because the weather was warm didn’t mean that the moisture was going to be low.
Dusty put away the testing unit, took a swig of water, and returned the tin. She climbed back into the combine once more, her muscles protesting from having to go back to the sitting position at the wheel. She moved forward a little, then stopped, flicked the level so the auger moved out over the truck, using her mirrors to ensure she was, in fact, in the right position. When she was sure everything was lined up, she hit another switch. Grain flowed like water into the truck. It would be a disaster if the grain missed the truck and spilled out on to the ground. Years of doing this job meant Dusty had a strong idea and feel of how everything aligned when dealing with such large machinery.
Yesterday, she’d taken a load to the silos, and today she wanted to fill the truck, then she would fill the paddock silos before taking another load to the silos tomorrow. It was more important to harvest the crop, but she didn’t have a lot of space to store the grain, so it was a constant balancing act. With the paddock silos worth tens of thousands of dollars, and while they were a necessity, they were completely out of the budget.
A dust cloud blowing up along the tree line at the far end of the paddock caught her attention. Dusty had been in such a rush to leave this morning that she hadn’t time to put together a packed lunch. All she’d managed to do was fill her water bottles, with ice then water, and grab a banana. Her stomach grumbled. She hoped her mum was bringing some food. If not, then she would use the CB radio and ask her to bring out some sandwiches.
Keeping an eye on the falling grain, she put the combine into gear and inched forward so as the grain didn’t just pile up in one spot and end up slipping over the side. She wondered if she could ever teach, let alone trust Blaise to do this one day. It would help out if he could. But then again, Blaise having a separate income would also help the daily budget.
Dusty couldn’t help remembering how her father was reluctant to teach and trust her. There was a lot of money wrapped up in ensuring the grain was harvested and delivered successfully to the silos. A lot could go wrong—too much—which she knew from experience.
She smiled as a ute turned into the paddock. It was her ute. Mom had remembered. She’d meant to leave a note about the food or at least call. But once on the combine, it was too easy to keep her focus here, besides it was thoughts of Blaise that had been the distraction instead of food. Her stomach grumbled again.
The ute came closer, and she was surprised to see Blaise at the wheel, and her pure-bred Kelpie dog, Ted, on the tray, his head poking out enjoying the ride. Her border collie, Molly, peered out from the other side of the tray. The poor dogs were bored with no sheep work being done right now. Come January with the shearing, they will be working hard.
Enjoy your little holiday now, thought Dusty.
Blaise parked in front of the combine. Dusty noted it was the worst place he could’ve parked. She took a very long, deep breath so as not to tell him off, and to remind herself he really was clueless. And that being patient was the only way to help educate him.
