315-31st Street N. E.edar Rapids, Iowa
Names in this poem are true. Earl Snuggs lives in West
Burlington, Iowa. He was the water hauler. Karl Leehart, now
deceased, was the owner. ‘I helped unload this new Case outfit
July 29th, 1912. I wrote ‘My Dream’ in 1929. I was quite
homesick for days on the farm at the time. I was the engineer on
successful run that year.
As I laid on my bed, so soft and white
I had a dream the other nite;
A dream of days of long ago
Of the people and places I used to know.
I was asleep on the farm, as in days
of yore
And when the farmer called at half
past four
I rolled out, and grabbed my shirt
And felt the grime of an engine’s
dirt
For I was the one the farmers knew
As the engineer of the threshing
crew.
The birds were chirping in the trees
And my brow was kissed by the
morning breeze.
I hurried along to where she was set
Gad, what a picture!-I can’t forget-
Some chunks of wood, a shovel of coal
The smoke ascends like some dark
soul.
Now comes Karl, fresh from his bed,
With his old brown hat jammed on
his head,
A cigar in his mouth, a smile on his
face,
As he climbs the thresher and
swing in place;
He lifts the feeder and checks it o’er,
Above the stack he swings the
blower.
Now the time is seven-five
And men come forth like bees from
a hive;
Each has a team and a hayrack too,
For the job is big that we must do;
From the feeder comes the sign to
start
Just the wave of a hand from Karl
Leehart.
I open wide the cylinder cocks,
Ease back the throttle, the engine
rocks,
She’s near dead center, and won’t
turn o’er,
So I reverse and try once more,
The main belt flops just once or twice
But now she starts’ Don’t she run
nice?’
While the feeder hums and the engine
chugs
I need some water, so I call Earl
Snuggs;
He hitches up and drives away,
And Karl says, ‘Gosh! It’s hot
today.’
At last I see the setting sun;
I throw the belt, their job is done;
Their straw is in that yellow stack,
Their grain is weighed, and in the
sack.
We couple up and steam away
To start again at break of day
As we head out to the open road,
Pulling behind that heavy load,
The women call from out the door,
‘Goodbye, we’re glad our threshing’s
o’er.’
Thus ends the dream of the friends I
knew,
That heaving monster; that threshing crew,
And now, as I pass in life’s long race,
I always pause when I see a Case;
The pinka-pink from out the stack
Makes those years come rushing
back;
I watch the feeder when they start
Yes! there’s the sign from Karl
Leehart.
