“I’m a God-fearing hardworking combine driver
Hogging up the road with my p-p-p-plower
Chug-a-lug-alugin 5 miles an hours
On my International Harvester”
Such are the words to the country song written by songwriter Craig Morgan. I always thought this upbeat tune a fun one when I heard it played on the radio; however, the humor became much more real as I got a taste of real combine work.
To continue yesterdays’ narrative…after we finished with the blueberry pie filling, The Lady and her brother Wrestler Man had to go to their Combining job with a local farmer. Were we (Curly-Q and myself) up to ride along with them? Were we ever! It was between one and two O clock in the afternoon when we left for the fields. Because of the recent rainy and damp weather, their work day began later so as to give the cut rye grass a chance to dry out.
The cab of a Combine is not designed for two females of feminine proportions to fit spaciously into; however, The Lady and I squeezed in (good thing we know each other and are friends!) so we wouldn’t have to endure the dusty conditions resulting from an open cab door. Yes, you can keep the door open when you Combine without any fear of being sucked out at the incredibly high speed of 5.7 miles an hour! Round and round, The Lady and I went, chit-chatting while the monstrously large machine “ate” at the fallen grass that lay before it. With rye grass, The Lady told me, you have to come at it a certain way. The grass has to be facing the Combine (the rye heads forward) so it will be collected, sifted, and separated all properly. I even got to drive for a while, having to pay a little more attention than I did last year when I “helped” (if you can call 30 minutes of driving “help”) combine wheat grass.
I felt almost special knowing that I was helping make food for other people. It was one of the highlights of my trip.
I still think the song by Craig Morgan is funny, perhaps even more so now that I can identify with it a little more. I sure didn’t “hog up the road with my p-p-p-plower” but I sure “chug-a-luga-luged 5 miles an hour!”
Hogging up the road with my p-p-p-plower
Chug-a-lug-alugin 5 miles an hours
On my International Harvester”
Such are the words to the country song written by songwriter Craig Morgan. I always thought this upbeat tune a fun one when I heard it played on the radio; however, the humor became much more real as I got a taste of real combine work.
To continue yesterdays’ narrative…after we finished with the blueberry pie filling, The Lady and her brother Wrestler Man had to go to their Combining job with a local farmer. Were we (Curly-Q and myself) up to ride along with them? Were we ever! It was between one and two O clock in the afternoon when we left for the fields. Because of the recent rainy and damp weather, their work day began later so as to give the cut rye grass a chance to dry out.
The cab of a Combine is not designed for two females of feminine proportions to fit spaciously into; however, The Lady and I squeezed in (good thing we know each other and are friends!) so we wouldn’t have to endure the dusty conditions resulting from an open cab door. Yes, you can keep the door open when you Combine without any fear of being sucked out at the incredibly high speed of 5.7 miles an hour! Round and round, The Lady and I went, chit-chatting while the monstrously large machine “ate” at the fallen grass that lay before it. With rye grass, The Lady told me, you have to come at it a certain way. The grass has to be facing the Combine (the rye heads forward) so it will be collected, sifted, and separated all properly. I even got to drive for a while, having to pay a little more attention than I did last year when I “helped” (if you can call 30 minutes of driving “help”) combine wheat grass.
I felt almost special knowing that I was helping make food for other people. It was one of the highlights of my trip.
I still think the song by Craig Morgan is funny, perhaps even more so now that I can identify with it a little more. I sure didn’t “hog up the road with my p-p-p-plower” but I sure “chug-a-luga-luged 5 miles an hour!”
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