I got a text from Brad the other night at work. I figured it would be a picture of Blair or something he needed to ask me. If only it had been just that.
This is our cotton picker. Was our cotton picker. Our only cotton picker.
The message in the text: “We had a bad day…. I’m home.”
I think that qualifies as a bad day. Day four of harvest in the first really good cotton and the dang picker burns up. My husband would say that’s par for his course.
I didn’t know whether to cry or hit something, call Brad or leave him alone. You know how men are; they don’t want to talk about stuff like this. We women want to know every detail of what happened.
The visit to the site the next day was yet another learning experience for me. First thing one does if there is a fire is dump the cotton in the basket and move away from it. He did that.
Three guys fighting, three fire extinguishers exhausted, and the fire burned on. Brad eventually had to jump off of the picker because it was too hot. He said that he knew when the beam holding the picker heads bent that it was over. It was probably over way before that, but this cotton picker was his baby.
And it was the only one I’ve ever known. I’ve spent quite some time in that buddy seat. It was really hard to go out there the next day to see it.
So we had a bad day. What now? We move on. We pray. We harvest. We get it done. :)
We’re thankful that no one was hurt. And we realize that fire devastates homes, and this is nowhere near that. It’s just a day on the farm, and we just have to get busy with our options. They aren’t necessarily simple options, but we have some: finding another picker (they do happen to be scarce this time of year), getting others to harvest for us, or a mixture of both.
We’re thankful that we have some choices – and some good farmer neighbors willing to help us out in a crunch. We’re praying that God leads us to get this crop in whatever way He intended.