Threshing

Another of the farm devices that was periodically giving trouble was the pump on the barnyard well. It seemed that every year, Uncle Carl would be called on to repair the well pump. There again, the well pipe and rod were in need of replacement, but not before the failed to operate completely. Added to Uncle Carl’s resume, was the job of plumber as we hoisted the forty-foot extension ladders in a tripod to pull the 100-foot pipe. Yes, the pipe rusted out, the piston rod failed, but it would always be patched. Never replaced!

Probably the main activity of the summer season on the farm in those days was the harvesting of the oat crop. First it was to cut, bind, and shock the oats, and then to thresh them. Uncle Carl was one of the first to purchase a ten-foot power-take-off binder. This was necessitated by the demise of the old Acme binder. One of the first tractor driving jobs that we had was in steering the tractor pulling the binder while Uncle Carl sat on the binder seat. We didn’t always drive straight or turn the corners right, but the oats were cut. Then it was to place the tied oat bundles in shocks. This usually came in some of the hottest days of the summer. There was always an earthen jug wrapper in a wet gunny-sack to quench our thirst. We boys drank from it often, Uncle Carl sparingly.

Then the threshing season began. There were eight to ten farms involved. Uncle Carl was the owner of the threshing rig, a huge 48-inch cylinder Huber threshing machine, and a mammoth Hart Parr tractor. At one time he owned and operated as many as four of these combinations. When we moved to the farm in 1933, there were three remaining, but only one in operating condition. During World War II days, all of them were junked and went into the war effort. There was a lot of steel and cast iron in them.

Each year the procedure to get the threshing rig ready was the same. The threshing machine (or separator) was pulled out of the shed at the lower farmstead. This took some doing since it had sunk into the dirt floor of the shed. The small Hart Parr (a smaller version of the big one) was used for this. The separator was pulled up to the location of the tool shed where various repairs were made. Then it was to go to the cow yard where the big hart Parr had been parked since the last threshing season. Most years it took quite a bit of effort to get it running. There were prime cups to fill with gas to get it started, and as it warmed up, the fuel was shifted to tractor fuel. The cranking mechanism was a five-foot-diameter cast iron flywheel that Uncle Carl would climb upon and use his weight to get it slowly to move. At times we would have to belt the little Hart Parr to the bigger one to get the big one started.

So now the rig was ready and the threshing season began. If good weather prevailed, it would last about two weeks. Uncle Carl was in charge since he owned the rig, and it was done according to his direction. One year my older brother Carl and I hauled bundles. My job was to place the bundles on the hayrack as my brother pitched them up to be placed on the rack. I had specific instructions from Uncle Carl as to how to place the bundles since he was the one who unloaded them at the threshing machine. My brother Carl remembers quite vividly the day on the Peterson farm when going through a gate by the barn, the hayrack tipped over dumping the whole load. That night one of the team of horses, Barney, took off into the neighbor’s cornfield and died from sleeping sickness. It was felt that the reason for the tipped rack was that Barney was indeed quite sick at the time.

My next job on the threshing circuit was to be Uncle Carl’s tractor man. The job was pretty well laid out for me with the usual explicit instructions. Uncle Carl and I were the first on the scene in the morning and the last off in the evening. The instructions included filling grease cups on the separator a very certain way, installing the belts on the separator, pouring fuel from the tank-wagon into the tractor fuel tank, and in general doing “flunky” work. As the threshing day evolved, it was my job to watch and shut down the tractor if things went wrong. The specific instructions were to see that the bundles were going in, tailing belt working, and that the oats and straw were coming out of the machine. More than once I was not alert and Uncle Carl came running back to shut off the rig. Not a word was said!

There were times of repair which were time consuming with fifteen to twenty men and boys standing around waiting. Many times it was to repair belts. One time, the head of one of the two pistons of the tractor broke off necessitating a major tractor overhaul.

I recall several instances that have stuck in my mind. One was at a neighbor’s place who had planted oats on a particularly rich piece of ground. The bundles that the binder had made were quite large and fluffy. Two of the farmers wanted Uncle Carl to take out the dividing board in the feeder. He would not do so. One of them handed Uncle Carl his pitchfork and told him to pitch the bundles. He did it, but not without considerable effort.

Another time was on a Saturday evening. Two of the young men were throwing bundles into the feeder. No doubt it was time to get the job done quickly so they could get home and get ready for dates with their girlfriends. They were overloading the separator and Uncle Carl reprimanded them and stood at the top of the head and made them pitch the bundles in at an extremely slow rate. I’m sure that they did get home for their dates, but Uncle Carl did assert his authority in a “take charge” manner.

I did put all the belts on each morning except for two that operated the straw racks. Uncle Carl wanted them put on a certain way. I could put the, on, but he would chem them and then drop the tighteners. One morning we were blowing the straw into a barn, and he forgot to drop the tighteners. Since we couldn’t see the straw coming out, everything seemed okay. All of a sudden reality set in, and about half of the two bundle loads of straw were packed into the inside of the separator. That time it was not my fault.

The tractor had one belt that ran the governor. The belt, as many of Uncle Carl’s belts, was a little beyond normal usage. My instructions were that if the belt should break, to cut the ignition switch, grab a pliers and wrench, and hold down the valve arms to keep them from operating. This was to keep the tractor from dieseling, and theoretically, flying to pieces until it cooled down. Fortunately, the one time that the belt broke, Uncle Carl was at hand and took care of the situation. I guess I had a picture of the tractor flying to pieces, which seemed impossible, but the idea had been instilled in my mind.

All in all, the threshing season was one of community endeavor. The meals were good, and a certain amount of “horseplay” took place. There were years when the season was long because of rainy weather. One year especially when the bundles were taken out of standing water to be threshed. My one claim to importance was that I was Uncle Carl’s tractor man. I have understood that I followed in the footsteps of Uncle Carl’s brother Milton, who became a Lutheran pastor. He had an earned doctorate in theology, and was a teacher of Old Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul. I did not follow in his footsteps as an adult, but from what I have heard of his discipline in the classroom, I am sure that some of it came from the years that he was under Uncle Carl’s tutelage.