Harvest has begun here on our farm on the Great Plains of North Dakota.  The guys got the combine rebuilt after the tornado dropped the Quanset on top of it.  It's purring right along this afternoon. 

The wheat is good and dry with high protein and average weight.  The combine monitor is still a bit whacked as it said that the yield was anywhere from 35 to 60.  We'll have to figure that out later.

Here Jacob is driving the combine as Robert brought the semis down to the field.  The guys are so happy with their 40 foot header.  This is the first time that they've used it and it sure takes a bite out of the field. 

 

We'd appreciate prayers for safety as the rush is on!!

 

Dawn

 

PS  Notice the wheat piling up in the hopper on top? 

 

 

PPS  What's a harvest post without a harvest poem?

 

HARVEST TIME

by Colin Moffett

It steals along the morning vale

The dewdrops of the autumn mist

And through its curtain the sun shines pale

Along riverbank it will persist

Then softly blows the wind of morn

Over bounteous fields kissed with sun and rain

And whispers in the ears of wheat and corn

Harvest time is here again

It tosses the head of majestic tree

Plucking coloured gems from its crown

Where from the branches falling free

The autumn leaves come winging down

And now there is unceasing toil

From morning sun ‘til harvest moon

To gather the bounty from the soil

For winter days are creeping soon

And busy hands gather in the wheat

The earthy potatoes from the drill

The fruit of tree so good to eat

For barns of storage are to fill

Back through the mist of years

Jesus walked the harvest field

And gazed upon the golden ears

When mother earth had produced her yield

And watched it fall to reaper swing

The ripened heads fit for harvest now

After days of growing from the spring

When seeds were sown behind the plough

Then compared the world to whitened field

Where dying souls are like falling leaves

Who will reap the harvest field?

And carry home the precious sheaves

Who will seek precious souls to win?

Before scythe of death begins to mow

To tell of Jesus who frees from sin

For they will reap what they will sow

Jesus looks to me and calls to you

Who by His blood our sin relieves

His harvest reapers we are few

But let us work to gather in His sheaves