The sun is setting on the final day of wheat harvest in GriggsDaktoa.
The Spring wheat crop was good, although it took a while to dry down to safe storage moisture of 13.5 percent.
We kept the truck drivers busy.
And the grain cart drivers hopping.
It's a rush like no other on the farm.
The wheat harvest is usually in August, but sometimes hurries into July or lags into September. The daylight dwindles every week and the mornings have a chilly snap now that we crossed in September, our wall of fall.
We are historically a wheat farm and wheat harvest is in our blood. Whether raised on a farm or in a near by town, everyone who lives in the area has breathed a little wheat dust on a warm Summer evening. It is part of life on the American Plains.
We feel connected to the generations whose sweat and tears have watered the land in GriggsDakota. We are mindful of that legacy on a day like this.
My Great Grandfather comes to mind. He came to America on a boat. His ten children were born in America. He endured hardship and heartbreak. But he was proud of this land. He told his daughter, my grandmother, that the only thing that he had to leave for his children when he died was their American citizenship.
So far, it has been enough.