Good working weather," he says at breakfast, bowl of granola in hand. "Six degrees Celsius this morning when we went out to the barn. Not so good for growing crops, but good for getting things done."
Good farming man, he accepts what he’s given and always with thanks. I watch him get things done in a July that blows cool, the bladder campions and clover blooming long in the ditches.
He and the oldest boys, they’ve labored under sun, poured a perfect disk of cement, new foundation pad for a grain storage bin that needs moving. Days, they’ve leveled and backfilled, tore out old floor, unbolted, pulled out the auger, then booked crane operator John with his hydraulic arm christened “Goliath Reborn.”
Farmer Husband sets boys as point men, sentinels high on bin roofs, strained for first sighting of Goliath rolling down gravel, rolling in with muscle to flex. Mercenary strong arm, Goliath charges by the minute, 60 minutes for 250; the men determine to have him charge for but a handful.
When Crane Goliath lumbers in, corn leaves wave and boys scatter, scouts reporting, and the towheaded spectators gather, their crocks dangling, shielding sun from their eyes. Steel rings glint, farmer armor beating back wind and rain and snow. Farmer Husband climbs to the peak of galvanized pyramid, drops in the crane's iron hook with its kevlar strap, watches as it lowers down to the waiting tire, eye beam below. Boys hook the kevlar loop around the tire, a thin one inch strip ready to lift up to 18,000 pounds. Goliath revs his engine and we watch pyramid catch air, steel glide through July, giant corn cup shift at field’s edge.
When crane operator John climbs down from the steering of Goliath’s arm, he hails our men with victory: “I always say there’s no such thing as a ten minute job,” he laughs, tosses his cigarette dangling, “but you men just proved me wrong.”
I shield my eyes from ring of white smiles, a dad and his near-men.
When Goliath roars down the road, a fury of dust, I find that weathered Dutch hand, lean into that strong arm and ask him and his crew, “So how did you guys do the impossible? How did you make the moving of a four ton bin a ten minute job?”
He grins, and his boys too, Davids looking to slay their own Goliaths, smile winningly.
“Simple." He winks, squeezes my hand. "Pray, process all the steps through in your mind, and prepare.... and don't stop praying.”
I walk to the house on a July afternoon, good weather to pick out a handful of smooth stones.
Photos: a contigent of three farmers taking on Goliath here
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