We’re on the edge of it this year. This thing called harvest. It’s all around us, the fields humming with combines and the highways racing with grain trucks. Dust hangs in the air, the aura of the season.

We meet Lyndon in the field for supper. Pick him up on the dirt road and join the harvest crew and their families for a meal. The farmers play with their kids while the women set up tables and haul out bag after bag of food. Roast and potatoes and squash from the garden, and Saskatoon pie for dessert.

After, Carter rides. We wait and watch the sun set on him.

It marks the season’s change. The fields stripped and the gardens emptied and the food all put away in bins and cupboards and freezers. All made ready for winter’s rest.

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