Reflections of a Young Thresherman

By Jeff Detwiler
Published on July 1, 2003
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Jeff tries Kenneth Feigel's 80 HP Case for size at the 1974 Pawnee Steam Show, Pawnee, Okla.
Jeff tries Kenneth Feigel's 80 HP Case for size at the 1974 Pawnee Steam Show, Pawnee, Okla.
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Jeff and his 1926 19 HP Keck-Connerman at the 2001 Pawnee show.
Jeff and his 1926 19 HP Keck-Connerman at the 2001 Pawnee show.
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Another view of Jeff's 1926 Keck-Gonnerman, the realization of a dream.
Another view of Jeff's 1926 Keck-Gonnerman, the realization of a dream.

A very young Jeff Detwiler (left), his grandfather, Frank
Gorrell, and Jeff’s brother, Chad, on the machine that
introduced Jeff to threshing and steam.

Some of you may find this hard to believe, but not so long ago
this 35-year-old man was deeply involved with the now legendary
annual harvest, much as our heralded Iron Men were party to the
glorious threshing days of old.

At the tender age of 6, I was my grandfather’s right hand
man, helping him keep !track of what I thought at the time was a
huge machine. That machine was a 12-foot McCormick
‘combination’ binder and thresher. I didn’t know how
they came up with the term ‘combine’ until four or five
years ago when I finally started paying attention to one of Chady
Attebury’s threshing lectures.

My grandfather, a very wise man, worked his land until the day
he passed away, and I remember the days of harvest as though they
were yesterday. I spent every minute on the platform of that old
McCormick with my grandfather, chewing on dust, watching the golden
wheat as it was laid down, augered to the feeder and taken to the
threshing cylinder. What came out in the grain bin amazed me! Not
much payoff for all the stuff that was blowing out of the back of
the combine, but I knew that this was what put food on my
grandfather’s table, and I respected him greatly for his
commitment to the land. The harvest times were some of my fondest
memories, and every summer spent at my grandfather’s is now a
time capsule that I open frequently, hoping to glean one more bit
of wisdom from my time spent with him.

And oh, how we did eat. As all the old threshermen know so well,
the food and the fellowship were as much a part of the entire
threshing experience as spiking bundles, firing an engine or
fetching water. The sight of grandma and my aunts pulling up in the
wheat field meant that I would be sitting and listening I to my
grandfather’s stories, dining on some of the best tasting food
ever created by any woman anywhere. I remember drinking milk from
quart mason jars and fried chicken that would melt in your mouth,
along with mashed potatoes, fresh green beans and hot buttered
rolls. Even the fresh well water in wet, gunny sack-wrapped cider
jugs was like pure gold.

It was amazing how simple foods could taste so incredible out
under God’s blue sky. I would soak it all in, laying in the
fresh wheat in the back of the old grain truck. It was as close to
heaven as you could get. Not a care in the world, just good, honest
hard work and a nice cool shower at the end of the day out in the
homemade wash pit attached to grandfather’s old machine shop.
This fancy shower consisted of a 55-gallon barrel mounted up in the
rafters, with the top cut off so the sun could heat the water and a
faucet and an old showerhead attached to the bottom to provide the
refreshment. My, how we could get clean in a hurry on a cloudy day!
That clean smell is something I will never forget.

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