The Last Harvest Personal Narrative

 Farming can make or break you as a person. It carves strength into your bones, teaching you the value of grit with every early morning and late-night chore. Each day demands your attention, whether you’re battling the elements, racing after escaping animals, or toiling in the unforgiving sun. You learn to push through exhaustion, face setbacks head-on, and take pride in the tangible results of your hard work, transforming not just the land, but yourself in the process.

 The summer of 2017 I found myself living out my “Dream” of running a 150-acre cattle ranch in sunny California for the most ungrateful people I ever had the displeasure of meeting. Still, an opportunity is an opportunity, and in my life as a beggar, I never had the possibility to be a chooser. With cramped living conditions and long hours in the sun, the time passed on in a weary procession of laborious days and sleepless nights.

 July was always the worst month on the farm. Capay Valley would trap the summer heat around you like a thermal blanket you couldn’t take off. By eight o’clock in the morning temperatures would be well above one hundred degrees, sending beads of sweat down your neck for the most basic tasks. There was no escape, the type of heat that can destroy power grids, cancel schools, and even kill.

 The oppressive sun shone down for the seventh week straight of no rain, no wind, no break from the ever-monotonous procession of summer days. The hard earth cracked under the weight of my boots as I trudged through the wheat field to find my husband and go home for the day. Dust pooled at my feet as I stomped through the long dead weeds and brambles of the pasture in search of my husband. Nothing but blue sky for miles as the afternoon sun beat down heavily on my back.

 I found him near the far end of the field herding the cattle in for much-needed water and shade. Even the cows seemed tired, lumbering their hooves through the parched earth, heads dipped low into the clouds of dust filling the air, as if they cannot even be bothered to try to escape it.

 “Well, if it isn’t my favorite farmer.” I called out to him from across the field.

 “Hey, sorry I’m late, I couldn’t get them to move,” He motioned to the cattle, “Although, I can’t quite blame them, its miserable out here.” He said removing his worn wide brimmed hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.

 We both took a moment to pause under the shade of an old oak tree while the cattle crowded around the various troughs happily slurping up the water. I felt the smallest inkling of a breeze sweep through my hair.

 “Am I dead or is that a breeze? I swear I haven’t felt the wind in weeks.” I cried as I closed my eyes and reveled in the gentle wind against my hot skin. When I opened my eyes, something caught my attention that I did not expect. A small plume of smoke rising from the pasture across from us.

 “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I exclaimed and pointed to the emerging grey cloud across from us. The moment we both realized what it was our hearts dropped and we exchanged terrified looks. It was every farmers nightmare, a fire in the hay field.

 “Get in!” My husband called to me already leaping into the driver’s seat of the rusted-up farm truck. I jumped in and he stepped on the gas tearing through the pasture toward the impending conflagration. I called the farm owners who contacted the fire department, but we were out in the country, forty-five minutes from the closest emergency services, meaning we were very much on our own.

 By the time we arrived on scene, the flames were visibly starting to spread in every  direction. The farm owners, Sarah, and Marc, pulled up in their trucks seconds after we  reached the pasture. The wind began to kick up even more, working against us and  sending the flames roaring. I felt the heat scorch my skin as I started to choke on the  building smoke.

 “Robin get over here! We need to open the wells it’s our only chance!” Marc yelled  at my husband. Within seconds my husband was running to jump into the bed of his  truck.

 “Robin!” I called after him, but it was too late, Marc was off driving through the  flames now spreading at an alarming rate. My husband looked back at me, and we  exchanged a momentary glance, before he was gone, disappearing into a wall of smoke  and fire.

 From that moment on I wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, the bitter chaos of the  events unfolding around me, forcing me to push past what I held most dear, to help the  people and animals around me escape the pursuit of the spreading brush fire. Life and  death decisions are the everyday bread and butter of the farmer. Determining what  animals are going to harvest, workplace injuries consisting of missing extremities, looters  trying to steal your flock in the middle of the night. A wildfire seemed almost like just  another day.

 I tore off in the other direction with Sarah, to get the rest of the farm hands to help  put out the blaze. Unfortunately, all our efforts were in vain. After the wind changed  directions, the fire quickly spread through the pastures and up into the hills where it  burned through the countryside for weeks. While other people were lucky enough to  evacuate, we had animals to take care of, we would not just leave them to fend for  themselves.

 After the second day the smoke stretched over the sky, cutting out any sunlight from  the valley. On the fourth day my husband took a piece of raining hot ash to the eye and  was temporarily blinded. One week after the fire started my husband came to me  exhausted and covered with soot just finishing a twenty-four-hour shift.

 “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Looters came last night and shot at  us up at the gate. Marc had to fire at their feet before they finally left.” He dropped his  head into his hands and sank down on the couch.

 “We need to get out of here, this isn’t worth it anymore. We can get a hotel and come  back when the fire is out. They are perfectly capable of cutting the fences if things go  south.” I said comforting him.

 “Yeah, I tried to say something of that effect to Marc, and he told me if we leave  don’t bother coming back. We would have nowhere to go. We don’t have a choice. We  gotta stay.”

 “But what about your eye, you still can barely see, did they agree to let you go to  Urgent Care?”

 “That would be a no, I got some eyedrops at the pharmacy, hopefully my vision  comes back. We must keep going, we don’t have any other options. I’ll protect you no  matter what happens, when this is all over, we’ll get out.” He sighed and lay back, in  moments he was asleep, too tired to even make it to bed. Meanwhile, the wildfire raged  around us.

 The ash fell from the sky in waves and coated everything it touched. It came through  the window cracks and under doors settling in little grey snow drifts around the house.  Airplanes and helicopters passed overhead in a nonstop stream to drop water buckets and  fire-retardant chemicals in giant strips along the burning mountainside. Certain trees  explode when they catch fire, a disturbing fact I didn’t know of until I lived it. Something  about the sap combined with extreme heat, makes them explode, thundering through the  day and night.

 It didn’t feel like I was on a farm anymore, it felt like I was at war, leaving me  scarred mentally and physically. The only redeeming feature was that I had my husband  with me. Even though it felt like we were in constant combat, I felt safe with him. I knew  if nothing else, if we lost our home tomorrow, we would have each other, which was the  only comfort I clung to with everything I had.

 After the fire subsided and the sun came back it was time to rebuild. The chaos of  the past few weeks caused by a simple spark from an electric fence. One thing that could  not be mended was the way both Robin and I looked at the property. It was no longer the  farm we loved; it was the battle we survived.

 It wasn’t too long after that we decided to pick up and move east, where wildfires  weren’t common. After going through all that trauma, it just did not seem like a good  environment to build a life for ourselves. And while ranching is not as common in New  England as it was in California, we have found a wonderful niche where we can build a  homestead and not have the worry that it will be swallowed by a wildfire.