My father combined grain crops for neighbors throughout Cornwall Township. By the start of World War 2 his six-foot combine that was pulled behind his Farmall tractor was beginning to show fatigue, but he kept it running. His mechanical skills and a neighbor’s welding expertise made constant repairs. New farm machinery and parts were not made due to the war.
Shortly after the war ended my father took me to the Pennsylvania State Farm Show in Harrisburg. Dozens of farmers were gathered around a new shiny, red, 10 foot, self-propelled combine. My father shook his head in disbelief. If one of our neighbors buys one of these I’ll be out of business.
Three months later our neighbor, Rich Beucher, bought one. All of my father’s customers engaged Rich to harvest their crops. Harvesting would be much faster with an additional four feet. My father’s six-footer sat quieter after his own farm was harvested.
Mr. Lehman, a farmer who had Rich combine his crops, visited my father. Paul, I’m begging you to harvest my crops next summer. That new contraption blew half of my seed out the back with the chaff. My father reluctantly agreed to do it just one year. He let Mr. Lehman know that he would be informing Rich of his decision.
My father told Rich, Mr. Lehman begged me to harvest his next year’s crop. He told me your machine blew a lot of grain out the back. Tell me, Rich, did the salesman tell you how to adjust the air flow to match the grain?
I didn’t know about such an adjustment, Paul.
In a few minutes Rich and my father were searching for the adjusting mechanism. My father knew that his kindness was not to his advantage, but his friendship with a neighbor was worth more than income.
Rich combined Mr. Lehman’s crops the next and years thereafter. The 6-foot relic eventually went to the combine graveyard.
Seventy years later I’m asking God for the grace to practice my father’s kindness.