The Thresher's Table

Last Saturday, my neighbor and I carried the large table upstairs to the family room for another meal event.

                                                               

We had a progressive dinner that night for the High Priests Quorum and their wives, the prospective Elders and their wives, and the single sisters in the ward.  We had a great time, and, as second assistant in the High Priests Group leadership, my assignment was to prepare salad for 60 people.  Nicole gave me the recipe for glazed slivered almonds, and along with the other assorted vegetables, it was quite a hit.  The next course was barbequed chicken, baked potatoes, and vegetables, followed by a chocolate pudding dessert.   What a night, with great friends and conversation.  I was relating the story of the large table to my neighbor, Kerry, as we carried it to the family room.  The table, without the leafs, was the center piece of our living room when I was a small boy.  Mom kept doilies and nick-knacks and beautiful things on it.  Once a year, in the Fall, all three leafs were put in it, and it became the thresher's table.

When I was a boy, from about 6 years old to about 12 years old, we grew alfalfa seed.  Along with alfalfa hay, it was the main source of income for our family and many neighboring families. In the Fall of the year we cut the hay after it had gone to seed and was ripe for threshing.  On cool, crisp mornings, Dad, Mom and I would go out to cut and rake the hay.  Dad cut it, Mom raked it into rows, and I came along with the dump rake.  The result was hundreds of small piles of hay (and an occasional pheasant that hid a little too long, got hit, and became dinner) that would be left to dry in the Fall sunshine.

Mr. Clayton owned the threshing machine and would set it up on a farm and neighbors would all pitch in to thresh the seed.  I drove tractor and pulled a wagon, while the men loaded the wagon with the small piles of dried hay.  I then drove to the thresher and other men got on the wagon and threw the hay into the thresher.  Hundreds of moving parts, many belts and a lot of dust later, yellow alfalfa seed came out the back, along with chaff.  The seed went into white bags and was taken to Intermountain Farmers to sell.

Noon time was my favorite.  When we threshed our seed, we stopped at noon for dinner (more than lunch).  Everyone washed up and we all set around the big table.  After a blessing, the food was passed around--potatoes and gravy, fried chicken, salads, punch, rolls.  What a meal for hungry men and boys.  The men talked about the farms and what was going on.  Before long it was over and we again headed out to the field for the rest of the day's work.

Eventually the combine replaced the threshing machine, but I probably will never get out the table for a large meal without thinking of the threshing crew.