MIDWEST HARVEST

Over the broad Midwest prairies the harvest spilled northward in a bright golden wave. Last week it brought its bounty to this little farm near Lincoln, Neb., where War Veteran Fred A. Liebers, his wife and their husky son grow wheat and oats, tend their dairy cows and chickens, and feed part of the world.

To the U.S. farmer, harvest is a time of rejoicing and backbreaking work. Well before sunup the Liebers were out in the barn, snapping the stanchions on their Holsteins, switching on the 20-year-old milking machine. They paused briefly for a hearty farm breakfast on the cool screened porch. Then the Liebers went out to the oat fields, father on the tractor, 14-year-old Wayne on the binder. They tussled with the Mexican fireweed that had got into the oats, stopped to oil the binder, took a swig from the canvas water jug, worked on.

In the evening came the volunteer "work corps" helpers, mostly agriculture teachers from the University of Nebraska. They tramped through the dusty grain, stacking the oats six bundles to the shock.

At the farmhouse, Mrs. Liebers had been busy every minute. She fed the chickens and did the afternoon milking, picked green apples for applesauce, dug and peeled enough potatoes for supper, shelled peas fresh from the vine. At 9:30, when the last of the twilight faded and the workers came in, she had the fourth meal of the day waiting.

By the time everyone was fed and the dishes washed it was midnight. But there was another day's cutting ahead. Mrs. Liebers resolutely set the alarm clock for 5 a.m.

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