Saying 'I Love You' During Harvest

During my growing-up years on the farm I knew that June and November were not times to bother my father with trivialities: His mind was filled with harvest. Would the old combine hold together for another year? Is that a storm looming in the west? What are the grain markets doing?

January through April are harvest season for a CPA, months of working long hours to  juggle regular client work with the client appointments that come only once a year.

Husband's work day begins after I leave for my public school accompanying gig, so I only see him for a moment in the morning as I'm going out the door. At the end of the day he dashes home for a quick dinner together then it's back to the office until late, sometimes until the clock has clicked over into the following day. I try not to bother him with trivialities because his mind is filled with tax season: How will the new tax laws affect his clients? Is there a problem with the computer program that's popping up a new dialog box? How can he find enough hours in the day for everything that needs to be done?

These weeks are grueling, and as the wife of a CPA my self-defined role is to be flexible and supportive.

This winter has been the kind of winter we Kansans point to when we talk about our pioneer spirit. It's been mostly warm with  brutal cold snaps and two ice storms last week alone.

Yesterday another winter storm moved in. A frigid wind blew from the east and then it started snowing. Several inches of  heavy, wet snow piled up during the afternoon hours, so instead of coming home for dinner Husband ate downtown and went back to the office.

This morning I had gotten dressed and was looking for my snow boots when I glanced outside. The world was covered in snow, except for the long sidewalks that stretch along two sides of the House on the Corner. Husband had cleared them after he got home at nearly midnight. And at that moment he passed me on the stairs, pulling on his hat and gloves. He had set his alarm early and was already dressed for the outdoors.

"I need your keys--I'll get the car started," he told  me.

Ten minutes later I got into a warm car. The snow and ice had been cleaned off the windows, and the seat warmers were fully engaged.

I wouldn't have asked him to do this, but Husband's pampering reminded me that the language of love isn't always spoken with flowers or words. During harvest the gift of time is the most eloquent love language of all, and my husband is fluent.