Welp — harvest time is here again, as evidenced by my view out the kitchen window.

It creeps up on us, much like the underwear we had to borrow from our cousin because that same cousin dunked us in the cow tank earlier in the day.

It’s a story told for generations on the farm, but it’s also a story for another time.

We all started this long and arduous crop process last spring, continued it all summer long — inviting Mother Nature to help us along the way with sun and rain … even daring her on occasion to not give us what she threatens to deliver — and now we’re ready (or not) to gather the fruits of our labors … and hoping there’s enough labor to gather those fruits.

But with the coming of harvest comes the time of year when I always start thinking about how the holidays will play out. (Don’t judge me.) I think about what we’ll do, who to shop for, what gift will stop the show, how to keep Uncle Vern sober, what to write in the Christmas letter, the celebratory schedule, how much harvested grain we’ll need to pay for Christmas, etc.

If it doesn’t take as much grain to celebrate Jesus’ birthday as it does for a modern-day wedding, we’re good.

The holidays are too big to think about only after harvest is done or after the Halloween candy has been frightfully measured on the bathroom scale. (Once again, we’ve dealt with scales all through harvest, and they come up and spook us once again at Halloween, causing us reason for panic as we enter into that dreaded holiday fashion palooza.)

But since we have no choice but to think about the harvest right now, we may as well make it festive and joyful as we look out at these fields that are pregnant with grain … maybe even overdue and ready to burst forth with something that can bring new life to our bleeding checkbooks. I can’t remember seeing such enormous ears of corn, even if the stalks are questionable from southern rust and tar spot. Let’s hope we can get out there and gather it all in before anything happens to it, so we can ride these markets down like usually happens when there is a bountiful harvest.

I guess big yields are more of a prestige thing than a true money-maker.

Still, being in the dual harvest and festive modes already (you can ask me how long I’ve been listening to Christmas music, but don’t ask my husband how much he enjoys it), I thought it would be fun to write a spoof on a well-known and loved Christmas carol that came from WW II, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” It’s a song that has drawn a lot of tears over the decades — the story of a soldier dreaming that he would be home for Christmas, and what it would look like at his home on another continent.

My version won’t draw tears, but might entertain us for the short haul. It goes like this:

I’m dreaming of a lush harvest

Just like the ones I’ve known before

Where the stalks all stand bold

And ears all keep hold

To see grain tanks filled with gold.

I’m dreaming of a safe harvest

With every pass I make my goal —

That our trucks be ready to roll

And that all our augers stray from poles.

Wishing you all a safe and bountiful harvest this year. And may we continue to be grateful and thankful that Mother Nature blesses us now and then with years like this one, so we can draw strength from it when (not if) tough times come our way.

There is always, always something for which to be thankful.

Karen Schwaller writes from her grain and livestock farm near Milford, Iowa. She can be reached at kjschwaller@outlook.com. Note new address.