My week was fun and nostalgic for me.
My son has been spending his summer cutting, raking and baling hay. He has wanted to learn this for a long time and just so happened that his girlfriend’s dad needed some help this summer. God bless that rain.
Of course on the down side of this is the place they have been at this week, has rattle snakes, and he has killed two, three foot ones himself, and seen several others. The rattles are currently decorating my kitchen table. There was a small piece of snake on one that he cut off and tried to give to our cats to eat, but they were not having any of that. Seems even in small chunks they know what that is and to stay away from it.
We have made hay at our place this year for the first year in a few as well. My dad baled 109 total and is hoping for another cutting. The first 50 made it to the barn right after they were cut a couple of weeks ago because they were on the barn side of the property, but the other 59 only made it to the edge of the field before it rained again. These were the fields on the other side of the property. We are now in the process of moving them in.
What is fun about all this you may ask? Well, I am glad you did, and if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter because I am going to tell you anyway.
As a girl growing up out here, we raised turkeys (about 100,000 a year), cattle (40 head), and hay (sometimes 1,000 square per cutting, two cuttings a year when things were good). Because of this we were always hauling something, usually turkeys, feed, poop, or hay throughout the months from February to October. Back then I drove tractors and trucks and drug trailers and grain auger trailers for various activities around the farm.
Since the turkey plant burned in 1999, they have become a complete thing of the past. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not lamenting that very much, at least not for me, but my kids could have used a healthy dose of it some of those summers they complained of having nothing to do. They could have enjoyed dust so thick you can’t see, poop slung in your mouth, eyes, hair, face, other places by a flopping turkey, staying up all night loading out birds during a thunderstorm, getting up at 3:00 am to unload baby birds; albeit, they were at least cute at that stage (the turkeys, not the kids, kids are not cute when they are woke up at 3:00 in the morning, trust me I remember, I was one of them).
The whole ranch smelled like crap all the time because dad used turkey poop for fertilizer on his hay fields. He used to say that nasty smell smelled like money. I told him he needed to wash his wallet more often, in bleach or some sort of industrial cleaner. He probably should have burned the wallet and got a new one each year.
Because of all this, tractors, truck and trailers were part of my daily routine. In fact I think it was a requirement of being in my dad’s family. Mom always said that dad should have married a man and had three boys, but instead he married her and had one boy and two girls which were quickly converted to a country wife and two tomboys. If there was a boy or man around that could do something out there, then we three ladies, and I use that term loosely, had better be able to do it too, or better. What about my brother? Well, he was/is a guy so that was just a given.
My dad taught all of us to drive tractors to haul feed to the pens, pick-up trucks to haul turkeys, feed, hay, fence posts, and whatever else needed hauling around the farm, and to pull trailers to haul hay out of the fields, as well as grain trailers to feed turkeys in the range pens. We drove manual and automatic transmission vehicles. It was farm life, and just part of what we did. Trust me, there are many stories that can go along with these activities as well, but they are for another time.
Anyway, as I seem to have taken the long way around to the story of my week, the point is, I used to drive tractors for my dad and help with hay as a youth, but there really hasn’t been much call for me to do so in quite some time. The turkeys went away, and hay bales went from square to round. So the only real call to drive a tractor is when hay is being moved or cows are being fed. Due to this, I haven’t driven the tractor in probably 27 years give or take. Usually my dad, my husband or my son does whatever things need to be done that requires a tractor. Of course, I plan to change that because with my son working and not always around, and my dad getting up there in years, he’s 85, and my husband being on call for his job, it may mean that occasionally I will be the only one around to do what needs to be done.
It would seem I have gotten side “tractored” again, pardon the pun, but I couldn’t help myself. Of course that in a way is exactly what I did. In preparation to move the bales to the barn, we walked over to the field where the tractor had been left after moving the bales off to the side, so that the field could be fertilized. From there, Steve drove and I rode standing up on the side all the way back across the pasture and over to the barn. It was a blast. I haven’t done that in so long I can’t even remember the last time. I don’t know what it is, but there is something so mentally relaxing about just riding along on a tractor. I have to laugh at myself too, because the song, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,” kept running through my head.
That was just such an enjoyable, relaxing evening. I am ready to do it again.
Last night, Steve borrowed Bryan Moellering’s larger tractor to load the bales onto Steve’s goose neck trailer, and then my dad used his tractor to load them into the barn after we brought them over and literally push rolled them off the trailer. That is a task that sounds easier than it is. Thank goodness Steve parked the trailer on a downhill slope to let gravity help. Even with that it took some doing. It’s kind of funny, because you think big round object, it should roll. Fifteen hundred pounds doesn’t roll easy, round or not. Once it hits the ground, there is no budging it, especially if it is a little dip. Nope, it is just not happening. Thank goodness for the tractor.
My phone camera does not do selfie’s because the camera is on the wrong side, so I could not get a picture of Steve and I riding on the tractor across the pasture Wednesday evening. Therefore, I took a picture of White Lightning loaded down with eight bales of hay as we moved them last evening. I wish I could have also captured the eight deer that were further down the field past the hay bales grazing, totally uncaring about us and all the noise we were making. Anyway, Lightning gets the prize, he gets to be my story cover photo, and he worked hard and has more to do, so he deserves it.
The fun begins again this evening as Steve gets off work, and then I will catch up to him when I get off. I am just a bail guide in the field when he is loading them on the trailer, and a pusher when we are unloading, but it’s fun. It reminds me of the old days of summer from my youth. Kids miss out on so much not having 100’s of square bales to haul each summer. We would haul the hay, and then go jump in the creek afterwards. Now that was a summer day!
On the Wings of Angels 