This is a story from Donna Sobotka Cooper....
When harvest time came I remember jumping into wagonloads of wheat and oats. The wheat was fun, it was nice and smooth and clean, but the oats always itched, I think we kept doing it anyway.
All the neighbors came to help, the men in the field and the women in the kitchen. I'm sure the kids were supposed to help too, but mostly we just played or got in the way. I remember long, long tables where we sat to eat, some in the big kitchen and some outside. The men always ate first then the women and the kids.
Later when the combines came along Mother would still feed all the men. I remember once someone thanked her for the meal. She was surprised and said no one had ever thanked her before, they'd told her how good it was or some other compliment, but never said thank you. A meal was just expected.
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