Semi View: Ho hum, it's harvest time

Unfortunately, at my house, anyway, I'm alone in that thought.

"I can't wait for harvest," said my youngest son the other day. And I knew he was telling the truth. He really loves harvest.

In fact, everybody in my house loves harvest. Everybody except me.

Yep, I'm the lone dissenter. The lone whiner. The odd man, I mean, odd woman out.

Now, I've always felt bad about it, at least I did until I found out it isn't my fault. As it turns out, I was born this way. I just don't have the "harvest" gene.

Let me explain. A few years ago, my sister started looking up our family history. She hadn't been at it too long when she found out some other long lost relatives had already done all the work for her. They had a book.

As it turns out, my great-great-great-great-great grandfather Sanford Pickett settled in Shelby County, Mo., about 1836. And he was a farmer.

In fact, many generations were farmers, even my great-great grandfather who eventually moved to Johnson County. His oldest son, Howard Franklin, was my great-grandfather. He wasn't a farmer, but instead worked on the railroad in Kansas City. However, at one time he inherited a tract of land in Shelby County and moved there with my great-grandmother to farm.

According to my Dad, Howard Franklin worked the ground and planted wheat his first year as a farmer. According to the story, "he had the best wheat in all of Shelby County," right up until he sold his land -- unharvested wheat and all. They moved back to Kansas City and never looked back.

Apparently he just didn't have the "harvest" gene.

So it's not that I don't like harvest because it's long, tiring, drawn-out and everyone gets cranky. Nope, it's just because I didn't get the right genetics.

Apparently how you "view" harvest also depends on your "genetic" structure.

For example:

How my boys describe harvest: Hours and hours of joyfully driving equipment watching corn and soybeans pile into the combine, grain cart and trucks.

How I describe harvest: Long days and short nights.

You see there is a more than a little difference. Here's more:

My boys: Nothing better than a sunny fall Saturday listening to Mike Kelly give play-by-play for Mizzou football while picking a field of plentiful corn.

Me: I could be in the stands, dressed in black and gold, cheering for my favorite team. Instead I'm waiting in line at the elevator covered in corn dust -- and the radio in my truck keeps cutting out.

My boys: This great fall weather is perfect for shelling corn or cutting beans.

Me: Fall weather is a perfect time to take a drive to the Ozarks or a nice cool vacation. But by the time we're finished with harvest, fall will be gone.

My boys: It's nice our lunches are prepared for us in advance. That way we don't have to waste anytime stopping for lunch.

Me: I hate making sandwiches, especially when I'd rather have a few more minutes sleep. What I wouldn't give for a leisurely lunch -- somebody else prepared.

My boys: Our "paycheck" is out in the field just waiting for us to gather it.

Me: Too bad my husband isn't a plumber, or a banker, or a factory worker with a "regular" paycheck.

My boys: This is the best job in the world.

Me: I can think of many better jobs, like plumbing, banking, etc. ...

My boys: Tomorrow we get to wake up and do it all over again.

Me: Tomorrow we have to wake up and do it all over again.

My boys: Oh no, we're almost done harvesting.

Me: Thank the Lord; we're almost done harvesting.

Well you get the picture. So if I whine during harvest, or get a little cranky, I guess have a good excuse.

Sorry, honey, it's not my fault. Blame it on genetics.