Editors' Notebook

WARSAW, Ind. (DTN) -- Growing up as a grain farmer's daughter, I've always seen what it takes to keep a farm running: grit, long hours and the ability to adapt on the fly. But in October 2024, I found myself tackling a task that tested my own willingness to do hard things.

When my dad called asking if I could learn how to drive the buggy because we were short on help, I hesitated. I had never operated the buggy before, and handling such a big piece of equipment felt daunting. But I took a deep breath, drove 45 minutes to the field, climbed into the cab and slid into the seat.

My brother gave me a quick five-minute lesson, with one critical rule: "Just don't touch the wheel, otherwise, it will mess it all up." Of course, I immediately broke that rule. You may be wondering why that rule is there. Well, the combine's GPS system controls the buggy's speed and distance when unloading on the go, but you must stay alert and be ready to adjust if needed.

When I felt the buggy drifting toward the standing corn rows, my instincts took over and I grabbed the wheel, overcorrecting and causing my dad to dump some corn. Then there was the clutch; more than once, I accidentally killed the tractor.

But with each round, I got a little better. And by the end of the night as I watched the sun set, I realized that I could take on new challenges and keep things moving forward.

A NEW PERSPECTIVE

This October, harvest looked different for me. Instead of returning to the buggy seat, I found myself contributing in unexpected ways.

When we were short on help, I ran the granary a couple of times, dumping trucks and testing moisture levels. I made more meals this year, keeping everyone fueled during those long days in the field. Perhaps the biggest change came from learning to fly my brother's drone.

Sometimes I'd sit in the buddy seat of the grain cart while my brother drove, controller in hand, capturing footage of the grain cart, combine and semis. Other times, I'd drive out myself and send the drone up to document. I started creating short videos from the footage, piecing together the story of each day's work.

My family looked forward to those videos, and they still do as I put more together. I remember at a birthday party in early October, several relatives gathered around my laptop to watch the one I'd finished editing that morning. Their faces lit up as they saw the bean harvest from the day prior.

At the end of harvest, I created a video marking the close of the 2025 season. But that barely scratched the surface. I'm sitting on over 200 video clips and countless photos, each one a piece of this year's story waiting to be told.

This year taught me something different than last year's lesson about conquering fear. I learned that contributing to the farm isn't just about operating equipment. It's about finding where you're needed and stepping into those roles, whatever they might be. Sometimes that means running the granary when help is short. Sometimes it means preparing meals. And sometimes it means documenting our story from the sky and sharing it with others to see the beauty in the work we do every year.

Farm life has a way of asking us to stretch in directions we didn't anticipate. The confidence I built in that buggy seat didn't disappear when I moved on to other tasks. Instead, it gave me the foundation to say yes to new opportunities and discover entirely new ways to contribute. And maybe that's one of the best lessons farm life has to offer.

EllaMae Reiff can be reached at ellamae.reiff@dtn.com

Follow her on social platform X @ellareiff

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