Our first combine was a pull-type pto driven Allis-Chalmers. It had a bagger on it, and I tended the bagger a lot. What joy it was to ride the combine threshing barley, sweating, and the chaff and barley beards sticking to your sunburned body and itching like crazy.
“What joy it was to ride the combine threshing barley, sweating, and the chaff and barley beards sticking to your sunburned body and itching like crazy.”
The coal miners had black lung, wonder how many farmers suffered from chaff lung?
Anyway, I looked forward to a dip in the creek every evening during summer. It sure did feel good.
I think the maddest I ever got at my dad was one day when he had to go to town for most of the day and I was plowing the harvested tobacco field to plant clover.
Driving by he stopped long enough to say “don’t let those horses get hot.”
Never said a word about ME not getting hot.
Four acres later I had calmed down.
Four acres after that I was too tired to care.
Hard work is good for the soul.