They cut well into the night to stay ahead of the weather.  Tall stalks of wheat falling into neat rows waiting to be bailed. "It's dusty on the road tonight," she apologized while we visited. "We're combining." No problem for us. Everywhere the breath of wheat as Willa Cather described:

“Everywhere the grain stood ripe and the hot afternoon was full of the smell of the ripe wheat, like the smell of bread baking in an oven. The breath of the wheat and the sweet clover passed him like pleasant things in a dream.”