Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, October 9, 2017

Love's Harvest

The prayers for rain had ended and the prayers for sun commenced,
Throughout the farming year, the pleas for either kept us tense.
The harvest was upon us and the grain was ripened gold,
The time was short to gather in before the snow and cold.

Most of the farmers had commenced. Their silos being filled.
But Ross’ sat neglected. He’d spent the summer ill.
His neighbours eyed his quiet fields and shook their heads. “When done,
I’ll go and help poor Ross,” they said, “One cannot waste the sun!”

That Sunday, those attending church received a big surprise,
When the Bishop told them: On the morrow, snow would fly.
“I know the Sabbath is for God,” he said, and then he grinned.
“But today I’ll harvest Ross’ crops. Now who can I count in?”

The meetings were abandoned. The run for trucks became a race,
And one, by one, combines and grain trucks came to Ross’ place.
While the men and boys were driving, girls and women, too,
Make thick, delicious sandwiches and ladled bowls of stew.

Now dew can halt a harvest, one needs dry to get the grain,
And as the light began to fade, they eyed the sky again.
But in the west an arch appeared, a chinook had filled the sky,
A promise they could carry on, that they’d stay warm and dry.

Throughout the night, they harvested, not one got any sleep,
And by the morning, they had won, there was nothing left to reap.
Tired, but glad, they filed home and into slumber swept,
The promised snow appeared and dropped two inches while they slept.

Only Ross of all those men had gotten in his grain,
But nary one of those who helped did fret, grip or complain,
Indeed, that day, through service, what they gained could not be bought,
For those who gave so willingly, a real Love’s Harvest had been got.

Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin,
With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,
Did we help? Or did we not . . .

And next week in our neighbourhood,
We tackle 'History'. It will be good!

15 comments:

  1. There is nothing that makes you feel as good as doing for others. It feeds the soul.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And what a great thing to do on Thanksgiving!

      Delete
  2. Helping is a big effort and of course this a really big help of love, action, and work. The kindness in helping thine neighbor!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Amazing how good it makes you feel when you really don't get any 'payment' as the world would see it!

      Delete
  3. You gave me goosebumps today, Diane. What a wonderful example of a caring community.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love this story! The effects were felt for years, even decades afterward!

      Delete
  4. Replies
    1. It is a true story, Delores. From Fort MacLeod where my Husby was raised!

      Delete
  5. I just love your poetry! Thank you for sharing your gift!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You are so kind, Rena! And thank you for reading it! :)

      Delete
  6. I'm reminded of one my favorite quotes: "All Love eventually becomes Help". (And vice versa as we've seen here). :_)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Just beautiful. Misty eyes here. Again.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I do love how communities pull together to help when it is needed.

    ReplyDelete

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