Way to go, 2017. We’ve already set a record: My husband planted our entire corn crop in a week. When he started, it was dry; he rolled from early morning to late at night. And when he finished, it was 3 a.m. and a shy two hours before the thunder rolled in and the rain fell.
This also explains why we didn’t really see him for a week, except for someone occasionally handing off a meal, the kid who came along to load seed, and the one day I packed my own lunch to eat with him in the tractor, because we actually had stuff we needed to talk about.
We figured there were about 48 hours when he never even saw Jenna, because he left so early in the morning. She was at play practice during supper, and everyone was in bed by the time he came in.
But then the rain came. And now everyone is reacquainted.
It’s a little disconcerting — this finishing planting but not yet seeing anything emerge. We’ve never done that before either.
And so now we wait. For the corn to come up, for the weather to warm up, for the verdict: Were we right to get it done quickly and before the big rain? Or should we have waited with some, spread the risk, hoped the weather would help us?
These are the questions we ask. Agronomists say there’s always one “voodoo” weekend when we shouldn’t have planted. The kicker is that we never know it at the time. Last year, it was Mother’s Day weekend, but who thought that then, since it was May? Hindsight, man; it’s always 20/20.
So we wait, and we wonder and we hope for the best. And then we plant the beans.
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