The Holy Days of Harvest

Centuries of agrarian experience by European peasants and yeoman farmers led to adroit adaptations to the typically harsh conditions of life on the land. They learned to survive during the long continental winters through hard work and carefully arranged field operations suited to local conditions. Changes in the winds, soil textures and available moisture, and myriad other aspects of nature informed their management decisions throughout the year. The earth’s fertility meant life, perpetuation of family, and community wellbeing. The center of existence came to be the village church where people gathered weekly in the presence of an altar representing the axis mundi of heaven, earth, and the underworld. Here priests and pastors mediated a secure grace-filled dimension from past to future with hallowed reference to good soil and sowers, gleaners and reapers, and “fields white for harvest.”

Archibald Hartruck, A Harvest Festival in the Cotswolds
Boxwell Church on a manor formerly owned by Sir Walter Raleigh
The Sphere (London, September 21, 1901)

Medieval literature is rich with subjects of agricultural association derived from biblical texts, early church documentary accounts, and regional folklore. St. John the Baptist has been venerated at various times of the year as Herald of the Harvest, and since the Middle Ages on Midsummer Day—June 24, in part because of the metaphorical significance of his prophetic call for repentance before the baptism of Jesus: “His winnowing fork is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clear His threshing floor; and He will gather His wheat into the barn, but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:12). The holy days of the medieval harvest season reaffirmed the cycle of the Jewish agrarian calendar although these commemorations typically took place three to four months later with the cooler climates and later harvests of northern Europe.

The patron saint of harvesters and peasants, St. Isidore the Farmer (c. 1070-1130), was curiously honored less because of his agricultural diligence than his attention to prayer and worship even when interrupting field operations on his master’s estate in Spain. But St. Isidore, who is often portrayed in paintings and sculpture with a sickle fastened beneath his belt, remained steadfast in religious observations and his crops flourished. His wife, St. Maria Torriba (d. 1175), was also canonized for the miraculous provision of grain after she shared their few precious seeds with the needy and foraging birds.

Medieval European Harvest Holy Days and Festivals

June 24: St. John the Baptist’s Day—Feast of St. John, Herald of the Harvest (Midsummer Day)

August 1: Lammas Day (Loaf Mass)—Feast of First Fruits and Blessing of the Fields, ceremonial beginning of harvest

September 24: St. Rusticus Day—Feast of the Ingathering, traditional “Harvest-Home” celebrations (Autumnal Equinox)

September 29: Michaelmas—Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, ceremonial end of harvest and the farm year

November 11: Martinmas—Feast of St. Martin, general thanksgiving, end of fall wheat seeding, beginning of winter

The Grand Grain Refrain—1935 Harvest Reminiscences in Verse

by Don Schmick and Don Reich (2008); edited by Richard Scheuerman

About the time we were winding down last year’s Palouse Colony Farm harvest longtime friend Dale Schneidmiller of St. John, Washington, sent me a tattered photograph showing a steam- and horse-powered threshing outfit for which our grandfathers worked over a century ago. One thing led to another and by some chance I found myself driving by the very place where this picture had been taken 108 years earlier just as a pair of high capacity John Deere combines driven by longtime friends, brothers Matt and Nate Klaveno, unloaded grain there into a bank-out wagon. I had my phone camera so snapped the serendipitous shot below.

Don Schmick and Don Reich viewing old harvest photographs

The experience reminded me of a series of visits I had in 2008 with community elders Don Schmick and Don Reich of Colfax about their memories of Depression-era seasons on the farm. While scribbling down their vivid recollections I was struck by the poetry of their expressions. For the summer-harvest segment, they told of “oiled leather collars and shiny hames” used to harness the immense teams of horses and mules, mimicked thresher sounds, and even remembered the names of their beloved draft animals. When I got back home I decided rather than following my usual custom of typing up a verbatim transcript of the interviews, that I would arrange their words in verse using many of the expressions they had wistfully shared. The following stanzas are their “Grand Grain Refrain.”

Harvests Yesterday and Today—Different Times, Identical Location
Lautenschlager & Poffenroth (1911) and Klaveano Brothers Threshing Outfits (2019)
Four miles north of Endicott, Washington

Mend the fences and steepled posts,
Hogwire and three barbed lines
Hold the Herefords from trespassing.
Reassuring early morning barn stall conversation,
Mammoth creatures, tons of muscled horses.
Fanny, Sam, Mable, Hank!
Friendly short names, ready for the season,
Curry-combed backsides, gettin’ into shape,
Easy walks around the yard, settle them colts down,
Oiled leather collars and shiny hames,
Jingling bridles, bits, and rings on shaking heads,
Harness pulled back in small caresses,
Hooked under tails, trace chains and singletrees—
Don’t get kicked. “Send ya ‘cross the barn!”
Hook those reins so they feel your pull,
“Easy now, girl,” and out to wet April fields,
Great hooves, thrown mud, manure, clods.

Find the backland ‘round the draw,
And follow that plow all day long,
Three bottoms behind nine head,
Plowshares shining like silver service,
Five in the back, four out front,
Through sleet and sunburn,
Slicing, turning black earthen braids.
Red-tailed hawks methodically coursing
For mice suddenly set to sprint.
Ten acres a day of snail’s pace standing,
Then harrow those clods before it dries,
Rod-weed the ground and watch that chain;
Singin’ in the dust.

Every day now, Dad on the hillside,
A crisp ear rubbed in hands, ancient ways,
Wisp of breath, chaff explodes, kernels chewed.
All expectant judgment, till one day
Verdict soberly rendered: Ready. And all hands to harvest!
Headers in wheat, experienced pilots,
Sickles singing, ferris-reels combing.
“Don’t fail me now, Fanny and Sam!”
Four on header-boxes, keep straight
As fifty-bushel treasure falls.
Wagons to the derrick, hoedowns pitch.

Mile-long twisted shush belt,
Engine cranked, pops, …pops and runs.
And she moans, galvanized metal moans.
Heaves and bucks and thumps,
Great clamored crashing, ancient dust.
Long-necked oil cans at ready,
Mechanic tends the grinding symphony,
First and second sprockets and chains,
Guns and cans to tighten, grease, and oil.
Then the pulse, the pulse of tumbling gold.
Squeeze it, chew it; great harvest smiles.
Thirty-five cent wheat, figures in dust,
Delicious cool water in gunny-sacked jugs.
Tenders and jigs and flailing sewers,
Sacks stacked and hauled to flat-houses,
Headers and boxers mine, threshers refine,
And then the dew.

Sounds die, teams unhooked,
Thick black coffee, monstrous dinner.
Bindlestiffs in the barn, hayloft hornets,
Bedrolls over straw, exhaustion sleep.
Week after week: The Grand Grain Refrain.