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THE NARRATIVE ARC

Harvest Made Me Wish For the Torments of School

The machines were dangerous, but not as dangerous as the men we hired to help

Walter Rhein
The Narrative Arc
Published in
6 min readJan 15, 2025

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A young boy sits on the top of a truck. Beside him is a grain elevator with vines hanging off the top.
Sitting on the top of a truck during harvest — Image by Walter Rhein

Though we had a small farm, dad would always hire a few men to help bring in the crop. Harvest came in the fall about the time we’d start to see frost on the ground. The leaves would turn from green to red and gold.

It’s the gold leaves I remember. They’d fall from the branches and blow across the lake. The sun would be low in the sky, and the horizon made it look as if a fire raged beyond the edge of the world.

Autumn is defined by warm colors, but there’s a chill in the air. In the back of our minds, we anticipate the white and bitter blue of winter. The lakes would soon be dark and still. You could spend all day peering into the frozen depths and never see anything but a captivating, impenetrable nothingness.

Farm life contains many days that evoke the same feeling as staring into murky water.

There was a time when I hadn’t yet come to believe in the seasons, though I experienced them every year. The present moment seems eternal when you’re young. The first snow is so magical it brings unquenchable joy. I feel that now and recall the innocence of youth.

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The Narrative Arc
The Narrative Arc

Published in The Narrative Arc

Medium’s best creative nonfiction — memoirs and personal essays. Welcoming writers from every walk of life.

Walter Rhein
Walter Rhein

Written by Walter Rhein

Certified English and physics teacher. Editor, journalist, illustrator and novelist. walterrhein@gmail.com

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