The Harvest

The Harvest

Should I feel elation or regret?  Does it really matter?  Summer had come to an end and the final harvest of what we had sowed would soon be reaped.  Funny, dad never really said much to me growing up except “Work hard, always do your best and stay ahead of the fires”. 

Sitting on the floor, sifting through old picture books, snapshots and silly postcards from vacations through the years, Gloria realized the sum of her childhood, one which she had long forgotten were contained within this one photograph.  The recent death of her mother marked the end of the family era in these old walls.  None of her siblings remained in the quaint Montana town known as Fish Bend.  In fact, so few residents remained in Fish Bend that it had been reduced to little more than a gas station and snack shop. 

Not that Fish Bend had ever been a vacation destination and the fact that it was nearly thirty miles from the nearest highway or interstate didn’t help matters any.  Back in the days before the highway was closed and the interstate built, this was once a thriving farming community.  No one was what you would consider wealthy, but looking back, Gloria had to smile realizing just how rich they really were.

In Fish Bend, everyone knew each others names, who your parents were, children addressed adults with respect, the kind of town where if you kissed your boe on the front step, your parents knew about it before you could twist the doorknob open.  As you walked passed others on the sidewalk, you always greeted them by name, no matter the pace in which you traveled or how late you were for an activity.

As she glanced back at the photograph, her eyes welled up with tears, 1966 was not a particularly good year for the family.  That was the year Stephen was killed in the Vietnam War, with three brothers over there, dad wanted the rest sent home for fear of loosing them as well.  A few months later, Rodney came home and was laid to rest next to Stephen.  If Christopher is alive no one knows as he was listed as MIA in the same year.  Dad never fully recovered from it.  All he had left to show was me, a girl.  Though he never admitted to my face he didn’t want a daughter, I can’t remember a time when he called me by name.  I t was always, the girl, that thing, her and a plethora of other titles he gave me, but never did I hear my dad utter or call me by my name.  I have hated him for this as long as I can remember for it.  Yes, I hated him and his stupid Saturday night pie.  Every Saturday mom would make a pie and NO ONE, not even me could have a slice of that pie but mom and dad.

Thinking back, Gloria was able to pinpoint the day she thought this picture was taken.  Though why it had been taken she couldn’t fathom.  Dad always said, “No frivolous pictures, it cost money for that film and even more to have it developed”.  Perhaps that is why she never knew it existed.  The white dress her mother was wearing had been a gift from dad for her birthday.  He wasn’t very pleased when he found out mom had cut off the bottom length to make the top I was wearing in this picture.

Mom, she was such a beautiful woman.  She stood average height, but carried herself with such a grace it was like watching an angel float across the surface.  Her voice was melodious; she always spoke in calming tones.  Dad used to curse when he tried to pick a fight with her saying that she could tame a wild animal just by saying hello to it.    She was a patient teacher who never gave up on her student.  If anyone needed help, she was always there to do what she could.  If someone was sick, she rushed to their home to prepare meals or do the washing.  No matter how much mom gave of herself, she always had plenty more to go around. 

The day the photograph was taken dad realized that in order to hire help around the farm, since his “good for nothing daughter couldn’t do a man’s labor”, he would have to sell off some of the land.  He had waited for the wheat to be ready to harvest to show that the land could support a bounteous crop.  Mom had insisted we go along with him while he took pictures for the Real Estate guy so that she could cut and preserve something from the last harvest grown on that land by his hands.  How a man like him ever managed to find such a good woman as my mother was beyond me.

Having enough of her little pity party Gloria hurriedly opened the book where the photograph had dropped out and tossed it towards the trash pile.  When she did, a letter dropped out.  Wondering what the letter was about, Gloria reluctantly rose from her position on the floor to retrieve it.

My dearest Gloria,

How proud I was the day I cradled you in your moms arms for the first time.  And how scared and horrified I was to have been blessed with a daughter.  You see, a mans role in life is to provide for his family so that they should want for nothing.  Outside of this falling apart farmhouse and land, I knew I had only hard labor to offer.  The boys, they were easy as boys were taught to be men, to be proud of the hard calloused hands they sported, but you….you were a girl, a soft and gentle creature for whom I knew I could never provide for in a way a father should.

When I met your mother, I set my hopes high, for she was a gift from the gods above.  I worked hard taking every job or task I could find that offered money and set it aside to purchase the old Robinson farmstead.  Acre by acre I purchased until at long last I had enough money to purchase the barn.  It is the wood of that old barn that build the home in which you grew up.  I didn’t have much except all my love, the land and a tiny one bedroom home to offer your mother, but when I asked her to be my bride, she rewarded me with an excited yes and the rest is as they say history. 

Dear sweet Betty, you should have seen the look on her face the day we purchased the double sided sink for what would one day be the kitchen you now know.  I was working evenings at the lumber mill where I was paid my salary in one load of lumber each week.  Betty never uttered a complaint; rather she cherished each Saturday morning when she would make me a pie.  We celebrated the end of each Saturday (the day I worked on building our home) with a sweet, delicious pie.  Oh how I cherished those pies.  On Friday she insisted on walking the five miles to the farm from the diner where she worked until you kids started coming along.  I didn’t know it for many years later, but she walked home doing odd chores for one of the orchard owners in return for enough fruit to last for the week, and of course, her delightful pies.

We worked hard and after nearly three years managed to build an additional two bedrooms, a real kitchen and the preserve room where your mother stored all of her canning and preserves.  We ate like kings off of your mother’s hard work.  I always regretted she could not go to the market like some of the other wives and purchase them, but she seemed to take pride in her canning and preserves so I never let on. 

I was raised poor, all I have ever known in my life is poverty.  Your mother was raised in a family of money.  We had to elope when we married as her father threatened me with a shotgun that should I ever come near her again he would blow my head off.  I fully well believed him.  When we would go into the city for shopping, I would always catch her looking at all the pretty wedding dresses in the windows of the fancy shops.  I made a vow to one day save enough money to purchase a beautiful white gown for her. 

Imagine how mortified I was to find that after years and years of saving for that gown she cut it up to make you a pretty top.  Seeing the two of you together in your vision of white was amazing, you are so much like your mother.  Hardly did I feel like a man, here we were having to sell off land to afford to keep food on the table, I had spent so much money for a silly white dress and worst of all, in the middle of financial disaster I found you two creatures, the reason my heart continued beating strong so stunning and beautiful.

I apologize for never being able to provide for you a nice home, a good education or the joy that your mother had growing up as a young lady from a good family.  I wanted to give you so much more, to have more so you could meet and marry a nice young man who could take you away from the life that I had imprisoned your mother into. 

Each day when your bright cheery smile would walk into the kitchen and you would say “morning papa” my heart broke a little more.  For each day I had nothing to offer a daughter.  I couldn’t teach you to work in the fields like a boy and we didn’t have money for your mom to teach you to sew or do those fancy needle threads like a girl should.  Every “morning papa” from your sweet cherub face was a slap across mine that I was no real man. 

When the cancer started eating away at my body and the medicine at my mind, your mother helped me realize that I had offered so much and never realized it.  I had always kept food on our table and roof over our heads and love in our hearts.  She also very carefully told me that it was in my feeling inadequate as a father that made you run away and never come back.  She admitted to me that she had been hiding a secret in that she had always known where you were, but had promised you to never tell me. 

I fear the cancer will take me soon and I shall never see you again, to let you know just how much I have always loved you or how very proud of all the things you have accomplished in your life since you left the farm.  When I picked the name Gloria as your name it was because I knew you would fill our hearts with glorious joy, that you held in your small ten fingers the ability to move moon and stars.  I picked Gloria because you were the most glorious breath of fresh air next to your mother to have graced my life. 

With all my love and heart,

Dad

Word Count:  1,928