Jack and Vance experience their first day working on a Montana wheat harvest.

Homeward Bound-Chapter Four



Next thing I know, there is a strange voice calling from the kitchen doorway. "Breakfast in ten minutes. I'll wait in my pick-up," it says.

"God damm, it can't be morning already," Vance says as he swings out of bed and lights up a cigarette.

"Tell 'em I'll have mine served in bed," I moan pulling my bag over my head.

When we climb into Cal's cab and introduce ourselves, I'm still more than half asleep. "Look's like it's gonna be a hot one today, all right," Cal tells us.

"You guys are sure early risers," I
mumble as I blink my eyes and take in the passing fields.

"We start an hour earlier during harvest," Cal tells us.

Inside the screened porch in front of the kitchen, Cal introduces Vance and me to Cy Hardy, and Ben Gaines, Ward's regular full time hands. Through the kitchen door, I spot Mrs. Ward and her two teenage daughters working at the table. Kind' a young, I tell myself as Vance gives me a nudge an rises a eyebrow at the older one who looks to be about sixteen.

Ward waves us inside. As the regulars take their seats, the rich aroma of hot coffee hits my nostrils. The long wooden table is crowded with platters of steaming pancakes, plump brown sausages, thick sliced home cured ham, and dark brown buttered toast. Ward takes a chair at the end of the table and points to two empty chairs to his left. "Dig in boys, afore it gets cold. Just tell the Mrs. how you want your eggs, and she'll cook 'em up for ya," he tells us.

"I think these hot cakes will keep me busy enough. I'll pass on the eggs, ma'am,” Vance says and begins to fill his plate.

"Same here," I tell Mrs. Stores.

"Better eat good. Be a long time afore we break for lunch," Ward tells us.

While we wolf down our food and refill our plates, Mrs. Stores and the girls hurry back and forth with fresh platters of food and pitchers of coffee. More than once, I catch the eye of the younger sister who blushes and looks away. I wonder what they must be thinking about the two handsome strangers at their table. If they were just a couple years older, I tell myself. I notice that the other hands act like the women are not even here, and try to follow suit. Vance and I are still working on our third helpings after the others have pushed back their plates.

"I'll say one thing for the boys, they got an appetite. If'n they work as good as they eat, they'll put in a day's work," Cy tells Ward.

"Must be the fresh country air," I say as I pour my second cup.

"That and the good home cooking. I don' t know when I've ever tasted better hot cakes,” Vance tells Mrs. Stores who smiles appreciatively.

Outside, we gather around Ben's pick up and light up smokes. Cal, who doesn't have the habit, leaves us to mess under the hood of his truck. By the time our smokes are finished, Ward is grinning along side giving instructions to Ben and Cy. He nods for Vance and I to follow to his pick up, and we head for the fields.

"You boys 'll be driving the dumps that carry the grain from the combines to the silos. One of you will pick up under the machines. The other will run loads in to the bins. All you got to worry about is to keep the trucks moving. The one thing we don't want is to have a full load in the combine and no place to dump it," Ward tells us.

"You can believe that we will do our very best to see that that doesn't happen," Vance responds.

"Just remember to ask questions," Ward explains.

When we park in front of a gray board building and a couple tall storage silos, Ward sends us over to the elevator where Doc is waiting to set us up with the trucks. A pimply faced kid, Ernie, climbs in with Ward, and they had for the combines. Doc introduces us to Dick Webster, a local man who has been working the elevator for some fifteen years. He explains that the wheat must be dumped at a certain point in front of the elevator which Dick will specify as each load is backed in. While Dick bends over the elevator engine, Doc takes us to the dumps.

"First thing, you check the oil and water, and gas 'em up," he says and explains that Ben carries the fuel on his Chevy pick-up. Vance and I climb in the passenger side of the cab, while Doc starts the engine and demonstrates which levers raise and lower the dump bed. He also points our attention to a water filled five-gallon bucket at my feet. “The burlap bag that soaks in the water is used to beat out flames if there's a fire. Your first concern is the men on the combines. Mostly that's where one will start.… 'Course, Ward 'll be on the look out for that sort'a thing.…"

Before Doc sends us to fuel up, he has us take turns backing to the elevator and raising the dump. "Why don't you make the pick up under the combines? Ward 'll explain how it’s done,” he tells me after my second turn. "You come right back here after you gas your truck," he tells Vance.

"You lucky bastard," Vance tells me when we park in front of Ben's pick up across from the combines. "I got a feeling ole Doc is gonna work my ass off."

"Well, you know I'm the best driver, " I laugh not letting on that I feel just a little hurt that Doc picked Vance instead of me. By the time we're finished fueling, the combines and Ben's pick-up are heading up the dirt road. "Guess I better follow," I tell Vance.

"Yea, well, don't get lost you stupid bastard," he answers.

At the edge of the upper field, I sit watching the four red International Harvesters cutting a gigantic swath through the hundred-acre plot of wheat. Spewing straw and chaff from their rear ends, they look like some kind of enormous insects devouring the grain. I watch Ward walk from the spot where the machines commenced their cutting. As he approaches his pick up, he waves me forward.

"Come, sit a spell," he tells me and explains that Cal is driving lead combine and will wave his hat when it's time for me to make my pick up.

"The way you do it is you drive along side the machine about six foot out. You get your speed evened up. Then, circle out to your right and back under the machine," he says drawing a circle on the palm of his hand. "Now, you got to keep the load balanced. Start at the front and work your way back. When the grain stops, you drive forward and circle right and back under the next machine.… Understand?"

"Yea, I think so," I answer nodding my head up and down and picturing myself cutting the wheel and adjusting my speed.

"Ought to have a real good harvest with that boy 'a mine driving lead. His first year. I don't think Ben was none too happy 'bout the change. But, the boy's got a head on his shoulders. There's a lot you got to consider when you're driving lead. Figure the distance between you and the last rig, how wide a swath you're cutting, where the turn should be made, how heavy the stand is, how rough the ground is.… You know, you can't wait 'til your bin is full to call for the dump. Do that and the last machine 'll have to shut down 'cause she can't hold no more. Can't run her too fast, or too slow neither.…"

"Yea, there's a lot more to it than you would think," I say nodding my head.

"Now, that boy, Ernie, I'm not so sure about him. Said he drove a twelve footer down at Butte last season. Sure looked spooky for someone who worked a machine before. Figure I'll give him a chance, though, and see how he cuts it.…"

"The other guys with you all year round, huh?"

"Yea, Ben and Cy have been with me for some time, now. Ben for near twenty years. Oh, he's left a few times, but he always comes back. Winter, he takes what wages he's saved and goes out to California somewhere. Stays drunk the whole time he's out there. Never touches a drop on the place. Getting to worry 'bout him, though. He pisses away his money every winter. Ain't saved a cent for his old age.…"

The combines are making their second turn around the field when Cal stands up and waves his hat. "That's your signal,” Ward tells me.

"Better get going," I say and take off in a trot for my truck.

Jesus Christ, I tell myself as I bounce across the field getting a feel for the gears. Though it's not quite eight A.M. already the sun is toasting the metal of my cab. Gonna be a hot one, that's for sure, I think as I wheel along side Cal and shift down to second. Cal shots a smile at me and turns a serious face to his work. I circle under his chute and he hits his lever. A million grains of golden wheat bounce off the hard wood floor behind my cab. With the seed comes a solid fog of dusty chaff that sifts through my open windows and settles on my sweaty back and shoulders. Fighting the wheel over the dips and rises, I line up the streaming grain and watch that I don't drift too far forward. The crash of the grain, the chatter of the combines, and the noise of my engine mix with the rising dust. I wipe a sweaty hand across my forehead, and feel my back bounce against the lumpy leather of my seat. In five minutes or so, Cal's bin empties. I pull ahead, wave good-bye, and circle out for the next machine.

When I finish under Ernie's machine, I see Vance's dump waiting a hundred feet or so below Ward's pick up.

"O.K. mother fucker, here's your first load. 'Bout time you got off your lazy ass and did some work," I say as we get out of our cabs to exchange.

"Work your ass, Daley. You wouldn't believe that fucking Doc. We almost rebuilt the whole floor of that one silo. Man, that fucker's got me pulling out rotten boards nail by nail. And, listen to this; he's got me straightening the nails on a little iron anvil.… Can you believe it?"

"Straightening the nails?"

"He must think I'm some kind'a moron the way he talks. Tells me I don't know how to use a hammer. Christ, Daley, I may not be a truck driver, but I am one hammering mother fucker.…"

"Yea, well you better hammer your fucking ass on up there with the load," I tell Vance and slip out of my white T-shirt. "Least, you don't got to work in all this dust," I say as I beat my shirt against my leg.

"Fuck you, Daley. Just keep these loads coming. We got two mighty big silos up there that need filling," Vance tells me and heads for the truck.

I climb in the empty and drive a hundred feet forward to await Cal's next signal. Ward kneels in the stubble sifting droppings through his hands. Damm, this is gonna be easy, I tell myself as I begin to hum a tune from the top ten. Way down yonder in the Indian nation. A cowboy's life was my occupation.…

After Vance and I make our sixth exchange, the combines shut down and we head in for lunch. "What you guys think about harvesting so far?" Cal asks as he, Vance, and I ride in the back of Ward's pick up.

"Pretty easy so far," Vance answers.

"Yea, ain't much too it 'cept the hours are long," Cal agrees.

"You can say that again. Seems like we put in a day's work already," I note.

"How'd you guys ever end up here in Shelby?" Cal asks.

"On our way up to Alaska. Figured we'd stop here and pick up a little extra bread," Vance says.

"Yea, when we stopped at the border, we found out American citizens ain't allowed to work in Canada," I add.

"What will you do up in Alaska?"

"Get in on some of that big money. Figure we'll make our stake up there, and then split for South America."

"You sure aim to do a lot of traveling. Me, I kind'a like it right here. I was out to California last winter. Too much traffic. Too many people. I don't know how a person can live in all that rush.…"

When we park in the ranch yard, Cal leads the way to a basement washroom. Ben, Cy, and Ernie are already stripped to the waist and washing the sweat and dust at a double sink. The three of us follow suit. As soon as he's dried off, Cal goes to a large up right refrigerator, and lifts out a gallon jug of coke. He takes a long swig, and offers the jug to Vance. I dry off quickly, slip on my T-shirt, and wait my turn. As the ice cold cola washes my dust parched throat, I'm telling myself it's the best I've ever tasted in my whole life.

Upstairs, the table is loaded even more heavily than it was at breakfast. Platters of steaming hot biscuits, crisp brown pork chops, yellow corn on the cob, and thick sliced red tomatoes greet my eyes. Bowls of whole boiled potatoes, and big green lima beans sit next to pitchers of ice-cold milk, and frosty ice tea.

"After the breakfast you ate this morning, I figured you boys be skipping lunch," Cy tells Vance and I as we begin to fill our plates.

"Why they're still growing boys.… Hell, when I was their age, I could put it away myself. I remember when I was cat skinning up North, I ate so much grub the cook thought he was cooking for a whole extra crew," Ward bellows.

"You can still handle your share all right today," Cy says as he reaches for a couple pork chops. The platters go round, and the food goes down with Mrs. Stores and the girls hurrying back and forth to replenish wherever necessary. When we finally push back our chairs, Vance takes out a pack of little cigars and offers them around. Ernie and I accept while the other smokers stick to their own brands.
As I watch Ben and Cy roll their
smokes from pouches of Bull Durham, I'm wondering if I shouldn't learn that myself. Taking a long drag, and looking around the table, I notice that Doc isn't here. "What, does Doc go back into town for lunch?" I ask.

"He did today. Usually brings out a couple sandwiches in a brown sack. Eats by himself down at the elevator. Can't get him into the house during harvest. Says we got enough mouths to feed. He's got some queer ways," Ward answers.

"He's his own man, that's for sure," Cy adds.

"Guess we'd better head on out and let the women, clear up," Ben says as he rises to leave.

"When's your mom and sisters eat?" I ask Cal as we wait at Ward's pick up.

"Oh, they got plenty a' time for eating once we're out at the fields," Cal replies.

"That's the way it should be. The men do the work, and the women serve up the cooking," Vance says with a Jean Shepard laugh. "I will say, though, your mom is some kind'a cook. I don't know when I've ever tasted a better meal.…"

"Sure was some good food," Ernie adds.

The sun rises above noon as we return to work. With each completed load, I pick up a little more confidence in my driving ability. Soon, the afternoon begins to drag. I climb out of my cab, sit in the shade side, drink from my water bag, and think how much like a hand I must look. This is the life, I tell myself as I tilt my head back for a second drink.

Should I light up now, or wait 'til the next load? I ask myself as I lift my crumpled pack from the seat. Better wait, I answer as I realize that I'm already one over my limit of four cigarettes a day.

Way down yonder in the Indian nation.… I sing and after several choruses follow with a few verses of "North to Alaska."

Back inside my cab, Johnny Mathis sings "Misty" inside my head. I'm picturing Anne and I entering the Downtown Club in Trenton. Anne’s is wearing her black Chinese dress. I'm sporting my olive sport coat, three-inch wide tie, and button down collar white shirt. The piano player catches my eye, waves hello, and leaves the tune he's playing to go into a jazz rendition of Mathis's hit. I order a Cuty and water for the piano player and me, and a Tom Collins for Anne. We take each other's hands across the table and listen to "our song."

I'm picturing myself later on tonight. Anne pours me a cup of coffee and tells me she’ll be finished in a few minutes. I watch her walk away in a tight fitting white uniform. We leave the restaurant hand in hand. Parked behind the knoll outside of town, I slowly savor her pressing lips. My fingers fumble with the buttons on back of her uniform.…

Shaking my head, I acknowledge
Ward's beckoning wave and walk over to his pick up. "When I first came on with ole Doc some twenty years ago, there weren't nothing but wild range grass would grow out here. No one had ever drawn a plow through the ground. Not a shade tree with in ten miles. Rocks so big we had to pry 'em out with a front end loader.…" Ward tells me.

"Yea, I can imagine. A lot of changes must'a happened in twenty years.…" I say and hear how they had planned out acre by acre how the land would be utilized, how old Doc got to depend more and more on Ward as the years went by, how owning a place isn't the same as working it, how a man's got to live on a place to really get the feel of it.…

I begin to get a little of the feel of the land myself, as the afternoon wears on. East and south are lightly rolling fields of grain or rangeland all the way to the horizon. West and north change from foothills into mountainous peaks. The closest range looks to be maybe an hour's walk away. Cal had told us earlier that it was a good afternoon's horseback ride to the edge of the Sweetgrass range. He had hinted that he might take us riding Sunday afternoon if we got the chance to knock off early. I picture myself riding behind Cal and Vance astride a frisky cow pony.…

Around four P.M. we have our first real taste of trouble. I'm under Ernie's chute for less than a minute when the wheat stops flowing. He jerks his machine to a stop, and I hit the brakes. As I climb out on the running board, I see that Ward's pick up is already on the way over. "What's wrong?" I yell.

"She must be clogged or something. I don't think Cal's calling you soon enough. Time you get back to me; I'm near over flowing. Got to slow way down. I think that's why she clogs the fuck up.…"

"Yea, well, here's Ward," I say as we turn and watch him climb out of his pick-up. Without a word, he heads straight for the platform, climbs under, opens a cover and begins to pull out straw and weeds.

"What's he doing?" Ernie asks.

"Getting it unclogged."

"If'n I race the motor and jerk the clutch in and out, you think that'll help?"

"I don't think so," I answer shaking my head no, and seeing that Ernie isn't listening. He races the engine and lets out the clutch. Belts and pulleys begin to whirl.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Ward shouts as he comes flying out from under the platform. "Shut it the fuck off you ass sucking moron.… Why you damm near got my fingers caught. Let me tell you one thing, boy. Any ass sucking moron that causes me to lose a finger is gonna eat that finger! Any asshole that ever run a machine knows you don't start it up when a man's got his hands in it!”

Ernie looks down with a sure am sorry expression on his face. "I didn't think you was.…"

"You god dammed better start thinking. Now turn the son of a bitch off," Ward tells Ernie and climbs back under the platform. In a minute or so, he replaces the cover and backs out. "Start her up!" he yells. The belts whirl and the grain swishes through the metal tube and into my truck. "If you kept the fucking table up where it should be, you wouldn't be picking up all them god dammed weeds and straw," Ward yells and returns to his pick up.

"Why'd he get so pissed? I was only trying to help. Why'd he get so pissed?" Ernie asks with a puzzled look on his face.

"You almost got his hand caught in the belts," I answer shaking my head back and forth. For the rest of the afternoon, Ernie rides a good half field behind the other combines.

It's near seven P.M. when Ward decides to call it quits. The combines park one behind the other as I take my last load to Vance and follow him down to the silos with the empty. When I climb into Cal's pick up, my sun burnt arms, shoulders, and back ache with wear and pain. "Oh, my aching ass," I say as I light up my sixth cigarette of the day.

"What the fuck you bitching at? Christ, man, we ain't even put in a full day yet. Must be at least an hour of day light left," Vance tells me. Cal flashes a big grin as we race toward the evening meal.

Super goes by at a little slower pace than the first two meals. Though we put away an enormous amount of food, we don't wolf it down quite so fast. Towards the end of the meal, I look for the sisters, but they have disappeared into the front room to watch T.V. Ward begins to describe what it was like growing up in the early days. "Started busting broncs when I was barely fifteen. Got five dollars for every horse I broke. And, you know, there was a good many days I'd earn over a hundred bucks. And, me just a kid. Wasn't long 'fore I was considered the best saddle bronc buster in the whole county. I'd no sooner finish up at one ranch than they'd be calling me out to another. Kept me right busy.…"

"Why Ward Stores, I do believe you're bragging. I ain't heard you carry on like this since before we were married," Mrs. Stores says as she pauses behind his chair.

"Yea, well, I reckon your right. I was bragging a bit. Must be the heat getting to me."

"Man, a hundred bucks a day. That was some mighty good money back in the thirties, wasn't it?" Vance asks.

"Oh, I made plenty of money, that's for sure. But, I was a young fellow. Always found some way to spend it."

"That's one thing don't change none. You can always find some place to leave your money if you look hard enough," Ben says.

"Don't take that much looking either," I add.

When the meal is over, Vance and I climb into the back of Cal's pick up while Dick and Ernie get into the cab. "We'll what you think of this fucking outfit?" Vance asks as we speed toward the bunkhouse.

"One thing for sure, Ward's the boss. You should'a heard him chew out Ernie, " I answer and explain what happened when the grain chute jammed. "Poor Ernie was so scared he almost pissed his pants."

"Make him eat that finger," Vance laughs. "Well, I'll tell ya, ole Ward my lord it over the hands, but it's a different story around the doc. I actually think he's afraid of the man. You ought to see him jump when Doc tells him something. He's a whole different person.… Man, I'll tell you, Daley, it's some experience working with that old bastard. Finicky as hell, though. Has to do everything his way. He tells me I got no idea of how to use a shovel. Taught me to do it his way, all in one smooth motion…. I'm really making a good impression on the old bastard, though. He ain't use to having anyone around that he can talk to.…"

It's just getting dark when Cal drops us off at the bunkhouse. Dick tells us that he always sleeps upstairs and takes his leave. Ernie is fixing his roll on the bunk across from mine as I sit down on my mattress. I take off a heavy work shoe and dump out a quarter ounce of wheat and chaff.

"Christ, Daley, don't let Doc see you wasting grain like that. He makes me unfold my cuffs right into the pile. Tells me it ain't right to waste what takes so long to grow."

"Yea, well fuck, Doc You can sweep it up and take it down to him in the morning,” I say as I pull off my socks and watch another handful tumble to the floor. I rub at the crust of black on my ankle and figure it will have to stay until tomorrow.

"Ain't you even gonna take a bath? Can you believe this lazy mother fucker?" Vance asks Ernie.

Ernie looks from Vance to me gives a shit eating grin, and shakes his head.

"I guess there's no way we'll make it to town tonight?" I ask Vance as I wonder what Anne will be thinking.

"Christ, man, I can barely make it to my bed," Vance answers.

Ernie pulls out a stub of pencil and a piece of paper. Still fully dressed, he sits on his bunk trying to figure out his up coming wages. "Let's see, twenty dollars a day. I reckon we'll do about twelve days. That's twelve times twenty. I never was too good at arithmetic. Let's see, two times zero is two, two times two is four.…"

"Christ, I don't believe this," Vance whispers to me shaking his head. "Here, let me give you a little help with them figures," he tells Ernie.

When Vance and Ernie finish figuring out Ernie's projected earnings, Vance suggests we turn out the light and get a little shut-eye.

"You guys reckon on going into town tomorrow night? Tomorrow is Friday," Ernie tells us in the dark.

"Probably," I answer.

"My brother done took off with my car. A brand new sixty-one Ford Galaxy. Drove up from Butte with him. Got to drinking. He waited 'til I got shit faced and took off. When I woke up Sunday morning, he was long gone.…"

"What the hell he do that for?" Vance asks.

"Oh, he's all the time pulling shit like that. He done wrecked my car last time. If’n he don' t wreck this'n, he'll come back looking for me in a week or two."

"Some brother," Vance says.

"I was thinking. Maybe we could go in and get us a couple brews tomorrow night. Bring a couple quarts back with us. A cold beer would go mighty good. What you think?"

"Yea, maybe," I say squeezing my eyes and feeling the dull ache in my body.

"I could ask Ward for ah advance on my pay.… Heck, I'd help chip in for the gas."

"Yea," I answer turning over on my belly.

"I'm doing pretty good on my machine, don't you think? I don't know why Ward got so pissed. I was jus' trying to help. I think Cal is waiting too long to call for you. I get to carrying too big a load. Got to slow way down.…"

"Yea, well, what say we get some sleep? Morning's gonna roll around mighty quick," Vance tells Ernie.

"Yea, it don't seem like you slept any at all 'fore it's time to get up.… You know, it's only a half hour to town. We could get us a couple brews and be back by ten thirty. Maybe bring back a couple quarts. I know this real good bar.…"

Ernie continues to mumble while I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. Mulling over my first day as a ranch hand, I feel a touch of pride about how quickly I caught on. God damm, I tell myself. Tomorrow we'll head on in to town. I can drop Vance and Ernie off at the bar. Go down and wait for Anne to finish up.… I picture us driving out to the knoll and parking on the down slope. Anne is wearing a tight fitting white uniform. I slide from behind the steering wheel and take her in my arms. She presses her body into mine. We search out each other’s mouths as our breath comes faster.…










Man is a chemical