As I mentioned before I was designed to be a hired hand, but my parents were inclined to sometimes hire additional help beyond me and my brothers. And in keeping with the summer hay work run I've had on the last couple farm stories I've got a guest post from an old high school buddy of mine who was recruited one summer to work with me out in the fields. Nathan gives you a damn good overall sense of how our little lifestyle plays out.
It’s been fourteen years since the summer I worked with Zeb putting up hay. Hands down it was the greatest summer of my teenage years. Filled with the freedom of driving, beer, and puppy love. Although the things that stick out most are ones that happened while working with Zeb. When I look back at it I remember almost dying on a tractor, jumping off a cliff that seemed to be fifty ft. high but was probably closer to thirty, a juggling hobo, the sale barn, and hay, lots of hay.
My day started at 10 a.m. getting to the house to find Zeb fresh in from mowing. We would rake and bale in the mornings go in for some grub and Kool-Aid. Then the real work started. One of us would drive the tractor while the other stacked, we would switch from load to load. While one of us was driving, the other one would stand in the trailer while a big green machine would pick the bale off the ground and put it at about eye level on the trailer (hard to explain what the pop-up loader is with out seeing it, might do a post on hay equipment at some point). This was nice on the upper tiers but when it’s over 100 degrees out and the loose hay sticks to you like glue, pulling them down was a chore. Zeb has told you about the beloved lofts so I’ll spare you with those horror stories. One day while heading back to the barn with a full load on I noticed a train coming so I hit the brakes and nothing happened. While holding back the urge to shit myself I went through the crossing, the train missing the back of the trailer by a few seconds. I’d like to tell you something like I never felt so alive, but the truth is I was just happy as hell I wasn’t dead.
While we worked our asses off most the time, on occasion we would go to the quarry to cool off. This place is like something you might see on a post card…beautiful. Sheer cliffs on one side and crazy scenery on the other. Once we hit the water Zeb started telling us stories of his brother’s friends jumping off the cliffs. Being that I’m scared to death of heights I nodded and smiled hoping it wouldn’t come up that we should do it ourselves. Didn’t work. Zeb was the first to go, went like it was nothing so of course I had to go. That first time it took what seemed like hours to work up the courage to jump. Once I did though it was on! There’s nothing like the rush of falling, smashing into the water and swimming up and up and bursting out of the water gasping for air. This was something that we did a few more times that summer, bringing in some other friends to make the jump.
I’m not sure if he’ll remember this, or remember telling me I was full of shit, but it’s true. One morning while driving to work I crossed a bridge and happened to look over and by the water there was a man juggling. He was sitting on the bank of the creek in a heavy purple coat juggling. This was only about a mile from Zeb’s house so I ran in to tell him. He informed me that I was crazy! We got on the tractors and headed out, passing the bridge where I had seen the guy juggling. In the 10 min that passed he had packed up and left. I assure you there were no early morning drugs involved, the guy was there! (I don't remember this, though there very well could have been a transient moving through the countryside.)
Although my main job was putting up hay, on some Monday’s we would work at the sale barn. For me this involved standing by a gate and giving Zeb hand signs for numbers, so he could put the livestock in the appropriate place. For anyone who has been on a farm you know the smell can be fairly rank. In a sale barn multiply that by 100! Minus the smell this was a pretty cake job. I only seen one guy get trampled by a cow, an hour later he was back at work.
Before this summer I had hauled hay only a few times usually as the driver. This was the first time, and the last that I would call putting up hay a job. Looking back I don’t recall the work being horrible. It was dirty and hot, but enjoyable. I could be off on my calculations and if so please correct this. but that summer we put up around 20,000 bales of hay. 300 a day for three months. How can putting up that much hay be enjoyable? It’s all in who you work with.
His calculations are about right, a 300 a day average is close. Some days it might rain or we just might not put up any, others we could haul in nearly a thousand from the field.
I don't have much else to add to his recollections. I do want to say thank you to Nathan Lea for taking the time to comb through his memory and write it all down. I will agree that working in the hay is dirty and hot, but more often than not fun and enjoyable.
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