Ode To A Magnificent Machine

I'm including some photos of the enormous green potato harvester that is currently working in our fields. It's the size of a small factory on wheels. It has belts and levers and gauges and piping and tubing and conveyer belts and ladders and wires and it makes a noise like the gods of Valhalla throwing the heavenly furniture around. It takes my breath away and I am oblivious to my surroundings when it's within my view. I wouldn't even notice a carrot held under my nose, and that's saying something. My dream is to be able to inspect every aspect of it at my leisure.

I've been doing many complicated mathematical calculations, trying to figure out just how many potatoes are being hauled away. So far my best guess is in the millions. Jack thought long and hard and said his best guess is "about elebenty billion". I've researched this term thoroughly and can find no references, so I assume it may be ancient Phonecian or possibly Mycenean. He may be more ancient than we think. Doc's guess was "oh man, I dunno, like at least a hundred or somethin". Molly will not even discuss it since she finds potatoes inedible and counting them therefore a waste of her precious grazing time.

We saw some funnel clouds last evening and the woman, who was mowing the lawn, rushed to put the mower away and called us into the barn. The rain came down sideways and the wind howled and the trees bent over but we were too busy making our dinner disappear to pay any attention to it. She said if a tornado came we should all hide under the harvester and hang on for dear life because it's the heaviest thing around. Then she said, "Or we could all just hang on to Sheaffer". From small minds come pathetic attempts at humour.