Catch Up

Hey.  Okay, I really dropped the ball because I ended up with a head cold and migraines and whatever other excuse I need.  So, this prompt was tough for me too, Em.  Not because I couldn't think of anything-I came up with all kinds of ideas.  But I haven't written from a prompt in a long time and I had to just sit myself down and actually put the pen to paper.  And I don't generally write in first person.  Mission accomplished in promoting writing, but maybe not my best work.  Anyway, here's what I came up with.  My favorite fall memory, told in present tense.


Fall is in it's final hours, winter sneaking around in the shadows of the night leaving windows etched with reminders of it's impending arrival.  The morning air is cool, and we are all bundled up against the frosty chill.  I have dressed in layers knowing they will be shed one by one as the sun journeys briefly overhead and temperatures rise to melt the weak frost away.

No one says much as we wait in the quiet field.  Fall mornings are always like this - calm, quiet, empty of the trills of songbirds or click of insects.  Even the wind sighs with a longing for summer now gone.  Completely opposite of spring mornings which are full of hope and bursting at the seams with the sounds of new life.  A large part of me would like to follow nature and return to bed to hibernate.

My thoughts of fall are broken by the chugging of a small red tractor as it passes before us.  Dad's whistling greets us, challenging me to smile and enjoy the day.  I only burrow further into my coat and fall in behind the plow.  It lifts the gladiola plants from the near-frozen earth.  There are rows of them, and each variety must be removed by hand and prepared for the winter.  The fading green tops will be chopped off of the bulb, which will then be placed in the correct box until next spring's planting.

I pull the plants from the ground, collecting them in the crook of my arm like a beauty pageant contestant until I can no longer lift them.  I smile to myself at the thought.  My sisters and I would definitely not win any pageants out here in the hard dirt.  I look at each of them as I carry my armload to the chopper.  Almost in unison they straighten and join me in my journey - an assortment of durable work coats in brown and red; worn, comfortable old runners and work gloves completing the ensemble.  Dirt smudges red cheeks, steam from sweaty necks rising in the chill.  Murmured conversation passes between us as we approach the chopper.

The chopper is fairly simple in design.  I have often thought of it as the gladiola guillotine.  After years of watching us break or cut the bulbs off the plants, my Grandpa has designed a machine that does it for us, speeding up the process and saving our hands to boot.  We place the glad plant in a pile at Mom's feet.  She picks them up one by one, placing them bulb up between two long, horizontal metal bars with a conveyor system which carries them to the blade at the other end.  With one swift chop the bulb is severed from the plant, which falls to the earth.  Another sister waits to catch the bulb in the correct box and keep the pile of dead plant tops cleared away.

I watch for a moment, then turn back to the field.  After a few more trip the sun is already warm and I shed my coat.  I close my eyes and turn my face toward its rays, pausing to feel the fresh breeze blow past carrying the rich smell of plowed earth.  Someone makes a joke and suddenly everyone comes to life as though a switch has been flipped.  Jackets are shed and the heaviness of winter melts away with them.  We laugh and sing and race to carry away more plants than anyone else.

My grandpa comes to survey the work and check his machine, making sure the blade stays sharp.  Grandma and my little brother wander over from the house.  My brother swings a bucket and Grandma carries lemonade and cups.  Work pauses and we all sprawl to the ground in a heap for a well-earned break.

I take a cookie from the bucket - chocolate chip, my Grandma's classic.  Hers are almost white and perfectly round with dots of chocolate peeking through.  They remind me of countless visits to a place where everyone accepts me for who I am.  And there in that moment I realize I am surrounded by the people who love me most.  These are the people who have made me who I am.  I have learned from them how to work and how to have fun doing it.  We have grown closer as a family working together.  My foundation for my life has been built here in these fields.  But I am growing older, and my days of working with my family will end soon as I set out on my own.  I breathe the fresh air deeply and listen to the laughter.   I close my eyes and wish that somehow I could stay in this moment forever.