The Last Harvest

I’m not exactly sure when it all started - this crazy love affair I have with autumn.  But I think it may have had something to do with an old wooden wagon in a ripened Iowa cornfield.  It was really a bit of a ritual - a kind of coming to age for us guys.  You see, in our house, fourteen was the magic age.  That was the age when Dad would let us carry a gun on the annual pheasant hunt.  It was the time when we were allowed to skip school on the last Wednesday in September for the Farm Progress Show.  But the real sign of manhood at our place was when we got to officially participate in that hallowed Dutch tradition - coffee time.  Mom was able to hold us off the substance for fourteen years, but when that magic birthday came, we truly became “one of the guys”.  For the rest of the story click here.