The oldest profession

Dusk on the Illinois prairie. The crisp October air flirts gently with the dew point.

Looking east, I see the red harvest moon begin to ascend. It is as if the moon knows that the soybeans are ready. The bean pods pop open to the slightest pressure of my thumb and forefinger. Tonight the full moon will play farm hand, providing just enough illumination for the farmers to keep the implements running well after dark.

A John Deere combine approaches me from the edge of the field. It makes a near impossible turn and rolls to a stop like a commuter plane ready for boarding. The roar of the diesel spins down to a low hum and I see my nephew Elliot open the door and walk out on a platform about ten feet above us.

During the week Elliott is your prototypical Frat Boy. He pursues his degree at a large university nearby in the city and makes the trip out to the family farm on weekends to work.

As he steps out of the cab, I see his father in him. His hair has grown long and scruffy. The last time we spoke we discussed methods of web programming for a site for his fraternity at school. I was the teacher then, but today I will be his student.

My son, Sam, has waited all day for this moment. He loves going to the farm and he knows today is the day he will ride in the combine. Sam fearlessly climbs the steep stairwell up to the cab. I follow him ostensibly to keep him from falling, but really I cannot wait to take a ride in this beast of a machine.

Inside the cab we find ourselves surrounded by as much technology as one would expect from a modern jetliner. The panoramic windscreen allows unobstructed 270 degree views.

Elliott idles up the big diesel and gently moves the hydrostatic drive control forward. I am struck by how much the power lever resembles the throttle handle of a modern jet aircraft.

We travel to the edge of the first unharvested row of beans and line up in position. Elliott looks at Sam and says, "You want to drive Sammy?" Before his sentence was finished, Sam had leapt to Elliott's lap and had both hands on the giant steering wheel.

Switches are thrown, parts begin rotating and the huge floating bean head settles on the ground. Suddenly we are moving forward at a decent clip. Sam grips the wheel firmly and with occasional guidance drives the combine with the skill of an experienced farm hand.

Rather than squeal with glee as a two year old would be expected to do, Sam wrinkles his forehead with concentration and scans the rows ahead. With a smooth and cautious touch he actually does a fantastic job of harvesting the beans.

By the time we reach the end of the row Sam hops down with a big smile and says, "Sammy drive combine!" immediately followed by "I wanna see tractor!"

Unfortunately, we will have to make a return trip to the eastern edge of the field where the grain wagon is waiting for our bounty.

Elliot spins the combine 180 degrees and lines up on the next row. He stops the combine and offers me the controls. Of course there is no way in hell I am going to be polite at this point and I practically hurdle him to get into the big captain's seat.

After a cursory briefing. I am engaging hydraulic switches, bringing systems online and getting ready to urge this beast forward. The switches for the important bits have a safety that has to be pulled up before the switch can be engaged. It reminds me of a fighter pilot arming his weapons while rolling inbound to a target.

As the various systems come online and I throttle up the big diesel, I have a fleeting sense of deja' vu. It occurs to me that the systems in this machine are not much different from the controls of a helicopter. The power lever has rocker switches that trim the height of the bean head, much like the hat switches on a cyclic make pitch and roll trim adjustments.

Even the hydraulic drive system is reminiscent of the helicopter transmission. At full throttle the hydraulic system begins to provide torque to the drive system and at the appointed moment when all systems are in the green it is time to move.

We begin to move. Elliott guides my control inputs with a calm voice, "Push the orange switch down one click. Set the speed to 3.2. Pick out a spot on the horizon and drive toward it."

Echoes of Greybeard begin to fill my mind. I over control the machine, weaving back and forth trying to stabilize my line. I realize that learning to drive this machine is exactly like flying. Every slight input is exagerrated until the student begins to 'feel' the aircraft.

I weave my way toward the eastern edge of the field, occasionally leaving uncut bean plants standing as I try to over think and over drive. I realize Sammy did a much better job than me because he has no preconceived ideas of how a vehice works. He simply held on to the wheel and let the combine do it's work.

We arrive at the edge of the field and Elliott gives me a flurry of instructions. Disengage this, idle that, raise the head. He asks if I want to dump the beans. Of course I answer without hesitation.

He guides me into position. I feel like the head is inches away from the wagon. An innocuous orange switch swings the dump arm forward over the wagon and another button begins the unload. I can help but think this must be how it feels to be an airline pilot lining up with a jetway.

All too soon our trip is finished. Sammy and I climb down the stairs with permanent grins. A couple of girls from Chicago that travelled down with my niece to see the farm climb into the cab with Elliott for their ride. He grins widely because one will have to sit on his lap. As a red-blooded 20 year old farm boy it can't get any better than having a 20 year old city girl sit on your knee while you dazzle her with your giant machine.

I stand at the edge of the beans once again. The harvest moon has climbed into the sky, illuminating the field with it's bright golden glow helping the farmers get a few more hours in bringing home the crops.

The crisp air, cloudless starry sky and distant hum of the combine make for a small blessed moment of peace. For the first time in months all my stress and anxiety melt and I stand in the moonlight, proud that there are still family farms in this country, working hard for us.