There is a heightened sense of urgency about the farm these days as we are entering into our very busiest time of year: harvest, going to markets, and of course, Slow Food Cycle Sunday. It seems doubly intense this year as we have experienced an unusual (for us) number of equipment breakdowns.
The biggest job now is the potato harvest. The “bung ’em in” crowd you may remember from planting time has gained membership and changed it’s name to “get ’em out.” On Thursday we dug around 9,000 pounds of potatoes. We have weeks like this to come.
The low point came Monday when yours truly mangled the potato harvester. Somehow, I raised this and lowered that in some combination that caused this to be caught up in that and this became mangled metal, my favourite thing. Not. Mom and dad had taken a couple of days to go camping, confident in leaving the farm in our hands, so you can imagine that this was not the ideal outcome.
Now, the thing is, this is not your standard backyard potato harvester. This is the biggest, most expensive, fanciest, shiniest red piece of equipment that we own. In fact, I think it might be the nicest harvester in the valley. And I am not kidding. (I’ll know how many farmers are reading this when I get feedback on this claim). This machine was made in Germany by an equipment company dedicated to making potato equipment for potato farms. Mom and dad went there to see it being made. It represents the future of our farm: It replaced my great-grandfather’s harvester four years ago, and I fully expect my great-grand nieces and nephews to be using it.
Gazing up at the bent and twisted hopper feeder, I really felt that I had wrecked it. I was a bit of a wreck myself. Intellectually, I knew that it couldn’t be the end of the world; emotionally, it felt apocalyptic. I had 24 hours until dad came home and I couldn’t bear for him to see it. I had to make it better. I admit that I pulled up a chair and put my head in my hands. I did not resort to drink, nor did I cry, although I considered both. I called on John, our machinist, and Jennie, my sister, and addressed the problem.
In the end, we fixed it. Jennie and I took it apart, with the help of our machinist and a passing fellow farmer. Working together to prevent the world from ending eliminated any sisterly squabbles, I can tell you that for free. We extracted the wrecked section and took it to the machine shop. There, John (a.k.a. Mr. Incredible) cut it up into pieces, straightened them all out, and welded it back together again. He said that if I found the right red paint, dad might never even notice. I bolted to the hardware store and found some. Jennie and I, passing time waiting for the call from the shop to come pick up the finished work, took a sledgehammer (on the advice of Farmer Dave the Great) and straightened up some of the bigger pieces. Then we put it all back together again — electrical, hydraulic and mechanical components. After a few wrong moves, and heart-wrenching disappointments, we got it all going… literally minutes before mom and dad returned to the farm.
Of course, I admitted all. They could hardly fail to notice the slightly off-kilter look to the whole thing, which all the glossy red paint in the world could not hide. The next day, we dug potatoes for eight hours and tried to ignore the slant of the sorting table. Clearly, we had to finish the job. In the process of straightening out the final pieces using the tractor loader, chain and a long steel bar, we managed to unknowingly dislodge an important sensor and create a lock in the return hydraulic hose. That took all morning to diagnose, about 30 seconds to fix.
The whole experience has left me very tired, and more than a little satisfied with the accomplishment of repairing what seemed at first to be un-repairable. I am reflecting on the reality that our farm is not immune to mistakes, misjudgments and mis-management. Their effects can be mitigated with enough sleep, some common sense and the residual tatters of a sense of humour. Thank goodness.
Anna Helmer has bet a nice bottle of wine that 3,800 people will show up for Slow Food Cycle Sunday (Aug. 15), and she doesn’t mind losing it.
