Will’s World: One last tour of Harvest Festival duty

I’ve just returned from the Harvest Festival service of the youngest of my numerous daughters at the village church.

It’s her final year in primary school so I made a big effort to get there, scooting into the back row of pews with a few minutes to spare, ready to bask in the glory of small children loudly thanking farmers for the next hour for the food they eat. 

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It strikes me that being a father to older schoolkids is similar to being near the end of a tour of duty in Vietnam during the late 1960s.

I have very little patience for new parents, getting overexcited about their little darling’s performance and stealing the street parking space the present Mrs Evans and I have unofficially claimed as our own for the past several years, so make zero effort to get to know them. 

As a grizzled multi-tour veteran and short-timer, I just want to put my head down, finish the job I’ve been sent there to do, and get out with my health and the last few remaining strands of my sanity intact. And if you think that’s over the top, trust me, I’ve seen things, man. 

Eyes front

Anyway, that’s the attitude I employ for these things. 

So, as I sat there deep in thought, eyes firmly facing front so as not to accidentally engage any overenthusiastic new parents in conversation, my mind began to wander to all the other primary school services that I’ve attended in the church since becoming a parent all those years ago. 

Easter, Harvest, Christmas, and everything in-between, there aren’t many that I’ve missed, and I’m thankful I have a job that’s enabled me to be a part of these memorable occasions in my children’s lives.

In fact, if I had to write a list of the best things about farming, the freedom and independence to be able to plan your working day around such events would be close to the top. Not everyone is so fortunate. 

By now the youngest children were reading out their lines from a poem about food and farmers while holding up various painted vegetables on long poles in a vague semblance of order.

One boisterous lad gave a double thumbs-up to his mum when he spotted her in the congregation, which caused even a worn-down old campaigner like me to smile.

Hitting home

By the time we got to my daughter’s bit at the end I was unexpectedly quite emotional.

Perhaps it was suddenly being conscious of the changes we’re going to see in our family over the next few years as we welcome yet another teenager into the house of raging hormones that is the Evans homestead, and the oldest few begin looking to universities and careers elsewhere.

But I think it was the talk of how hard farmers work to bring in the harvest that got me the most. We all know 2026 has been a difficult year, with seemingly ever-increasing input costs and a record-breaking drought hitting yields and bottom lines hard.

Talk of a super El Nino event potentially making next year even worse can’t be helping our collective anxiety levels either.

It’s a jungle out there, and I hope everyone’s managing to look after themselves and each other as best they can. Still, hope springs eternal and all that, and there remains plenty to be optimistic about.

Anyway, I’d better get back to ploughing the fields and scattering the good seeds on the land while the weather’s so good.

Might even put on some Jimi Hendrix songs while I’m at it. Peace out.