| November/December 1969

Minneapolis, Kansas

Out here in the West, in our Jayhawk State,
Where wheat is King of the Soil,
We raise Oats and Milo and corn, if it rains,
And have wells of stuff they call Oil.

More beautiful places, you may find to live,
Than Kansas with heat, wind and cold;
But where you were born, you notice these less;
You endure it and just grow old.

I've been here some time now, as I count years,
And wonder at what I have seen:
The most thrilling thing of all I have known
Was the old steam threshing machine.

Yes, that was the thing at the turn of year,
When the harvest time rolled around.
We readied our rigs and collected crews,
Soon filling the air with our sound.

The binders were first as they clicked off sheaves,
The driver would yell at his team;
That old iron horse with its sweet 'chuck-too ',
Its whistle and popping off steam.
Then, rumbling of wheels as the wagons neared
As crews would converge in the field;
The looked-for 'Toot-Toot', the machine was set
The farmer would soon know his yield.


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