When I was growing up on an Illinois farm in the 1950’s and ‘60’s, we had mounted corn pickers without cabs. If a farmer was fortunate, he might have a “heat houser,” a canvas frame with a clear section to see through that would break the wind. But heat housers had no roofs, and if it was raining, sleeting, or snowing, things could be miserable.
I don’t remember what year it was, but I remember that the weather was bad that fall, forcing us to pick corn nearly until Christmas. By early December, the fields were a muddy icy mess and driving became even more of a challenge than usual. It was quite common to break through ice into a mud hole and then struggle to get out to continue picking corn. Those old tractors had “Armstrong” steering-your arms had better be strong because the only power steering available was whatever muscle you had in your arms.
Dressing for such an ordeal was a production. First, the tractor operator might don long underwear and heavy woolen socks, followed by blue jeans and then by coveralls. When insulated coveralls and hooded sweatshirts became available, those of us forced to work in the cold rejoiced. The tractor operator would also wear work boots or the knee-high rubber boots the Brits call Wellingtons. There were no such things as insertable foot warmers. Frost bitten toes were a real possibility. The last piece of clothing would be heavy fuzzy yellow work gloves. These gloves were far thicker than the ones worn in the summer for baling hay or straw. The tractor driver might also have a scarf wrapped around his neck; that scarf could be pulled up to cover one’s mouth when necessary.
How cold could it get? On the Illinois prairie, wind chill is a major force to be reckoned with. With the wind whipping out of the northwest at 40 miles per hour and the temperature dropping well below freezing, those farmers likely suffered the same exposure to cold as Antarctic expeditions.
When my dad was little, corn was picked by hand, with pickers walking through the field and throwing the ears into narrow wagons that were designed to fit between rows. Those wagons had side boards or “bang boards,” so-called because the ears of corn would strike those boards and then fall into the wagon. Even up through the late 1930’s, one of the local farm boys won a national hand corn picking contest. Some of the great baseball pitchers in the early part of the twentieth century were supposed to have developed strong wrists by the combination of picking corn by hand and milking cows by hand. I can only imagine how truly wretched it would be to be slogging through a muddy icy corn field while picking corn by hand in the middle of a December sleet storm. But somehow, those old-time farmers managed.
I watch videos of entire families sitting comfortably in enclosed cabs with GPS, wireless, and sound systems, and I feel as if I am an alien from another planet. I am happy for those families, that they don’t have to suffer as did their grandparents or great-grandparents. I rejoice that parents are sharing the joy of the land with their children. But it’s not bad to remember that we are able to enjoy the land because someone who came before us was willing to do the tough things, like picking corn at Christmastime.
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