“The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day ...”

It’s the first line of the famous 1888 “Casey at the Bat” poem, and a line that holds true for many farmers in the Midwest today. The outlook hasn’t been real brilliant for the harvest of 2009 either as much-needed summer rains arrived in October.

One of the few days in October when the harvest equipment was moving smoothly, I dropped one of the guys off by a truck, made my way around the section, and lamented the standing water in the corner of the cornfield I passed. Lost in thought at how all of this rain has an incredible personal impact on so many, I experienced an impact of my own.

Bam!

I hit a large chunk of mud on the gravel road. Good grief. I hoped it didn’t do serious damage.

I parked in the garage and didn’t give it much thought until I went on my next farm errand. I entered the garage and immediately noted that the van was leaning hard to the west — flat to the rim.

Mike couldn’t understand it.

That’s a brand new tire — not even a week old. I had to confess that the four-inch gash wasn’t going to be covered by a warrantee. I justified the negligence by reminding him that it originated from my empathy for him and area farmers. A flat tire was a minor trouble in the midst of everything else so we dealt with it and moved on to the next thing.

The next week in between rains Mike put in insane harvest hours. “Are you tired?” I’d ask. “No, problem,” he answered. No problem all right. That’s why on one of our trips to the field he turned the radio up in order to turn the volume down, and put the pickup in drive in order to reverse, stopping just inches from hitting the shop.

When I give him good-natured grief for his fatigue-induced errors, he reminds me about my gashed left tire. I change the subject.

Quite frankly, I have enough whining material about this year’s harvest conditions to fill a column and then some, but you can go to the local elevator or local café for that. It’s my sincere prayer that by the time you read this you don’t have to go anywhere to complain: the challenging 2009 harvest will be a memory and you’re in your La-Z-Boy celebrating that it’s in the bin. That’s my hope and prayer.

When forwarded e-mails come into my computer’s inbox, I’m known to delete them faster than a click of a computer mouse, but this past week one of those stories grabbed my attention and hit home. Here’s a synopsis — my apologies to those of you who’ve already read it.

It’s about a carrot, an egg and a cup of coffee. A young woman went to her mom and told her all the struggles going on in her life. Her mom took her to the kitchen, filled three pots with water, and heated all the pots to boil. In the first boiling pot she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the third she placed ground coffee beans. Twenty minutes later they talked about the results.

All three reacted differently to the boiling water. The carrots went in strong and came out soft and weak. The once fragile eggs became hard — inside and out. The ground coffee beans changed the water and released a sweet aroma that filled the kitchen.

“Which one are you?” asked the mother. When adversity hits do you wilt, become soft and lose strength like the carrot? Do you start with a malleable heart, but change with the heat — becoming inwardly bitter, tough and hard-hearted? Or like the coffee bean when the water gets hot, do you release fragrance and flavor?

How do you handle adversity?

One of the best ways to handle trouble is through something that is highlighted during November in America: Giving thanks. One of my dear friends and co-workers is on a several week trip to Zambia interviewing orphan children and writing a short book that helps tell the story of the hope that each one of these boys and girls have about their futures if they can go to school. At the conclusion of a particularly challenging week in Zambia for her and a snow/rain-filled week for me we bantered back and forth via e-mail about things we’re thankful for.

Although she ran out of peanut butter and M&Ms, she gave thanks for clean water, eggs and good friends. I responded that I was thankful that my hubby was taking the deplorable weather conditions in stride, that youngest daughter, Melanie, sold a lot of jewelry through her non-profit business, Beading for Africa, to help raise funds for an orphan school in Zambia, and for what I was learning through her Zambian experience about genuine faith.

Although we cannot predict the weeks that are still before us, one wonders if Thanksgiving meals will be skipped or shortened this year so the harvest can continue. Here’s an inspiring Thanksgiving story from 1636 for each farm-community family, whether you’re gathered around the table or eating turkey sandwiches in your combine.

In 1636, amid the darkness of the Thirty Years’ War, a German pastor, Martin Rinkart, is said to have buried 5,000 of his parishioners in one year, an average of 15 a day. His parish was ravaged by war, death and economic disaster. In the heart of the darkness, with the cries of fear outside his window, he sat down and wrote this table grace for his children:

Now thank we all our God

With heart and hands and voices;

Who wondrous things hath done,

In whom his world rejoices.

Who, from our mother’s arms,

Hath led us on our way

With countless gifts of love

And still is ours today.

Lenae Bulthuis is a wife, mom and friend who muses from her back porch on a Minnesota grain and livestock farm.