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There is still noise, of course, as the whirring machines filled the air with sound as grain moves from the elevator into bins before getting shoveled into troughs for cows to eat.
The cows add their bellows and plaintive moos to the chorus and the staccato sound of the generator motor provides a back beat for the fall of night.
Outside the barn, you can hear the wind shaking the leaves on stalks of corn creating a distinctive rattle like ball players entering their fields of dreams.
In the farm house, the kitchen is busy preparing the night's meal so it's ready when the milking is done. At the table, before they have to set it, Harmon is scratching note paper with pencil as he completes that day's math homework.
Conversation with the older kids, still home this semester, provides a low murmur in the background punctuated occasionally with a laugh or snort.
It's the sound of comfort, order, and routine.
As the years go by, I've learned that it's possible to learn the time of year just by the sounds heard around the farm.
The sound of canning fruits and vegetables adds hisses, clanks, and exclamations as hot air or liquid meets exposed flesh.
Harvest is marked by the sounds of gas trucks from town topping off our tanks and combines idling while Scotty and Rich take five minutes to grab a bag with their supper.
I notice the large V's of geese circling into their landing in the picked over corn, their honks teasingly taunting the guys after the hunting day comes to a close.
In early September, it's the sound of school and preparing for harvest while scrambling to get one more cut of hay.
Friday nights, we can hear the marching bands play at halftime and the shouts when the home team scores. Speaking of which, I am hoping to take in the game tonight. The local boys have a good squad this year and Harmon likes to watch the action and hang out with his friends from school.
I like to watch, so it's become another Grandpa and Grandson sort of thing to do.
Out here we can see stars, sometimes millions of them. They are familiar friends that also help us mark the passing year. It's amazing how much you can see without so much man-made light.
As the first part of September turns in to autumn, we begin to count on the closest object in the night sky, to light the way so we can get one more field harvested.
Evening is God's way to slow us down, bring us together under one roof to eat, laugh, pray, and make plans and provisions for the next day.
It winds us down so we can spring out of bed in the morning - ready to go again.
A few weeks ago, when I was in Milwaukee I walked home after dark and the moon was the only thing I could see.
You can have your big city lights... I like the lights on the farm just fine.
Catch up on the story here.
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