Writing conversation: Threshing Time continued

Threshing Time in the ‘Thirties, part 2

Next morning all the horse teams would arrive, along with the extra hands, mainly for pitching sheaves onto the wagons. There was, however, need for two men in the loft of the barn to tramp and distribute the straw. It meant a full day of dust, probably enough to shorten the life of anyone foolish enough to take it on. Fortunately there was always one old geezer who volunteered, leaving Dad for the second one. At lunch time they would come out with totally blackened faces, and red eyes hard to find. Of course their faces had been covered with a makeshift cloth to help breathing, but how much help would that be?

With all jobs assigned, off they all went. Farmers with the wagons would build the load, with one or two pitchers assigned to each wagon. When the loaded wagons came along side the threshing machine it was the job of the farmer on the wagon to feed his load into the machine. While they went off, Frank Puchrin went about getting the big Rumley Oil Pull started. No automatic starter or even a crank. No, to start this brute one had to come up to the flywheel, brace your foot up on the tractor and give the flywheel a mighty heave. First try would result in a couple of big PMMMF’s. The machine would catch on the second or third try with a frightening, accelerating series of PMMMF’s that only moderated when the governor finally cut in. Once going, that great beast would run the thresher all day long smooth as a water slide. You could hear it settle down to a steady pmmmfn, pmm pmm pmmmfn all day long. Frank’s job was to go around both machines with an oil can, and be there for any emergencies, or if necessary, to adjust the straw blower pipes. By far the easiest job, and I made a mental note that this would be job I would seek come threshing time in the future.

The threshing machine itself was a wondrous thing to behold. In full motion its throat seemed like a giant tiger with its flashing teeth grabbing any sheaf that got near it and instantly devouring it. The principle of the threshing machine is to shake the sheaf so severely that all the kernels of the grain fall down while the straw is blown by a huge fan either onto a stack, or in our case directly into the barn loft. This was probably a Massey Harris make, or maybe a McCormick. Its wooden sides were a maroon colour. In action, all kinds of levers on the sides could be seen in furious motion, while the wheat or oats fed down a chute that split in two, so that one bag could be filling while the other was being tied up and piled in a stack. This was the second best job, I thought.

[to be continued]

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