When days become stretchers, bearing long, hot, and dry, The arrival of Summer brings a bold sultry sky. Harvest is imminent, the lush canopy awaits, Impatiently growing behind fences and gates.
Hay baling completed, some have already sold, Their round and square parcels of straw-coloured gold. For many a race to be won before rain, Storms danced all around with some efforts in vain.
Canola mostly is finished, some crops were quite tall, It can be worthwhile if you get a good haul. There are paddocks a plenty of oats, barley, and wheat, Some with legumes and brassicas for livestock to eat.
Silos become busy and trucks claim the road, A convoy of prime movers with trailers being towed. When one load is emptied another soon takes its place, It’s all hands-on deck in this harvesting race.
For tired hungry farmers day morphs into night, No rest for the wicked, someone sure got that right. Cold drinks and packed lunches are consumed on the run, Sleep deprivation is never much fun.
If not finished by Christmas it’s time for a break, A hot meal with family and a piece of fruit cake. Then back to the paddocks, not long till New Years, We’ll wash down the dust with a couple of beers.
It’s all going well till the header breaks down, Hopefully the part can be picked up in town. Whoever is available is despatched in the ute, With time of the essence and a dog in pursuit.
So, here’s to the harvest, truly great when it's done, Hard work is rewarded with some holiday sun. Time to stop and take stock of this farming game, As no two seasons are ever the same.
Trudy Smith