Bringing in the Sheaves

"Bringing in the Sheaves," a hymn that is sang all over North America, especially at this time of year, can be interpreted several ways, none of which I am going to labour over. Whatever the true intent, I think Knowles Shaw, the man who penned the well-known words in 1874, was a farmer, for only a farmer would grasp the depth of jubilation as bundles of gold are harvested and brought safely into the storehouse.

A "stook" or stack of sheaves, bundles
of grain, each sheaf wrapped with a
single cord. In this case, the grain is oats.

"Bringing in the sheaves, 
Bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves."







Over the weekend, we had the privilege of helping at an old-time threshing just a few miles up the road. A vintage threshing machine, wagons, teams of horses, and the fall colours made for postcard perfect scenery.

The process is millennia old. Cut the ripe grain, "thresh" it, that is trample or stomp it, so the kernels come off the stalks, then separate the grain from the straw or chaff. Although today's experience was a step back into the olden days, using mechanization, and engine-powered mechanization at that, is very recent in the history of man and grain production.

Loading the wagons.

Bringing in a full wagon.

Waiting patiently for their turn at the threshing machine.

Josh waiting in the wagon.

Pitching the sheaves onto the threshing machine.

The belt is driven by the spool on the tractor. There are no motorized parts on the threshing machine. It's mechanized by pulleys, belts, chains, and kept running under the sharp eyes of the old-timers. 

Riding out for another load of sheaves.

I helped load two wagons, not much contribution, but I can say it is very hard work. There's a knack to picking up a sheaf with the pitchfork and tossing it high up into the wagon.

  Pitching sheaves into the threshing machine (the gray contraption) where the bundles are "threshed," or flailed and battered. The chaff blows away to the right. The grain pours into the green wagon down the red chute.

Straw pile.

Cowboy coffee. Hot and strong.
This pot held at least two gallons.

Mid-afternoon, the teams and wagons all came in and the tractor was shut down. The ladies had made dinner--fried chicken, baked beans, potato salad, rolls, and home-made cinnamon buns. And lots of coffee to wash it down. It felt like nap-time after eating, but there's no rest for the weary. Back to work!

Finally, the threshed grain was taken to the granary, and everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief and thanksgiving that the harvest was finished before the snow came. Time for celebration!

May all your harvests be bountiful!

*The wagon in the the last photo was built by The Cowboy's father.