Ten Thousand Rattles

The Upper Basin Chronicles

Chapter 32

Ten Thousand Rattles

Finally! From the highest rung of the steel ladder on the combine's grain hopper, Alexander Murphy surveyed his corn crop. The November wind narrowed his eyes as it funneled down from the wide plains of Alberta with air so dry his lips rasped. The clattering cornstalks shook like ten thousand rattles, applauding the day they would no longer have to stand long in ovation to both the sun and the rain.

Finally. Wet year here. Dry most elsewhere. Strange times. After weeks of waiting, of holding out against self-driven pressure to propane dry the crop, the day had arrived. The morning's crystals of light frost were long gone in this wind, rising, fleeing southeast with the triple brace of mallards off the slough, lonely stragglers compared to the millions of birds that graced the prairie potholes before the plow, before the drain tile.

Alexander grinned with the thrill of the harvest. In spite of his forty-three years, picking corn, combining corn, harvesting corn -- for as long as he could remember -- always made him smile. Well, at least nowadays. From the warm enclosed cab of a used, but steadfast combine, he could. There were days gone, days before tractor engine shrouds and windscreens when driving a two-row picker quartering upwind in November would about put the fire out in the toughest Iowa farmer. He remembered his dad Owen coming in purple-faced late from the fields, shivering stiff, and shaking his head at trying to get the corn in before the snow got too deep.

To top it off, today is election day! Visiting the town hall, the old one-roomed school where he went to first grade, the little high-ceiling, tall-windowed room with its ballot boxes, dust, and white-haired ladies made him happy, too. Not only that, but Laura hoped to join him in the cab after supper for headlight combining. What a day!

Part of the fun of the election for the Murphy family was discussing the issues and the candidates around the dinner table. One of Alexander's favorite stories was about the fall when Harold Mundt lost the county supervisor's race by a single vote. Rose and Michael loved to hear it, and they always speculated on who didn't vote for Harold. They never failed to get contemplative when Alexander asked what they would have done to get one more vote had they been Harold.

The Murphys read newspapers and campaign literature, and shared stories from friends and neighbors. Public television was great at the state and national level. The local television news from Waterloo and Mason City, and the state news from Des Moines helped. But it didn't do much at the county and town levels. For that, Alexander relied on the Waterloo Courier, and the Williams County Weekly. Lately, he tried the county library and the internet, but so far he found it too time consuming with the few spare minutes he had. Talking to friends and neighbors after mass, at the grocery store, the gas station, and the co-op confirmed his ideas. Iowans take their politics seriously, so you had to pay attention.

The combine below him was still quiet, not dormant, but not running. It simply waited for its operator to retire from that lofty perspective, to just get to work. As he paused halfway down from the hopper, before he stepped across to the combine's cab door, Alexander saw his father standing in the kitchen window. Owen's face was near enough the glass that Alexander could see the old man clearly. He wanted to be out here. Yet, pain from cancer compounded by weakness separated him from the work he loved.

Alexander waved. After a long moment, Owen waved back. Alexander waved again and swung into the bucket seat. He closed the door and hit the glow plug. Soon enough the diesel fired below him. The combine began to churn with its singular music. After studying the guages for a moment, Alexander Murphy looked back at his father in the window. He knew that Owen would be able to get to the town hall today. He'd go if they had to wheel him.

My votes, he thought at that moment, will be for better schools for Michael and Rose, for better health care and for cleaner water for Teresa and Owen. Not only that, he mused, but if Laura and I get serious, we could...

The combine's engine reached the proper tone. Alexander checked his mirrors, and wagged one more gloved finger at the man in the kitchen window. Thinking about a friendly presence who would ride beside him later that day, he put the big machine into gear and headed for rattling corn.

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Next week...Chapter 33.

The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 32 was written and edited by John Gabbert.

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The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.