Within the next few minutes, I'll be heading for Colburn to help my sister out with the hay-hauling operation. She needs a driver because they use two wagons to haul hay from the field here in the Sandpoint city limits to the barn eight miles north of Sandpoint at Colburn.
Laurie's rounded up some Bouse boys and the Knaggs brothers, or so she thinks. Finding teens to work in the hay on hot summer days is easier said than done these days. In today's case, she'll work them only through noon, but as of last night, she hadn't heard from all of them, confirming whether or not they'd show up this morning.
The hay-hauling process is easier than past years because Harvey Lippert has a stream-lined operation for cutting, raking and baling. Using a specifically designed truck for scooping up the bales, he takes them to a designated place in the field and unloads them, a whole stack at a time. This makes the hay hands' work go much faster because they're not dragging them all over the field and throwing them up above their heads to a truck or wagon.
Instead, they stay in one spot, drop them down on the wagon and stack them. The only real time consumer is the trip from the field to the barn and visa versa. So, that's where I come in. I'll be driving and then doing a lot of sitting while they work. But, I'll be taking my laptop with me and working on some stuff for the class reunion.
This suits me just fine because a couple of years ago I decided I'd lugged my last hay bale. One reaches a stage in life where the gritty sweat rolling from all parts of the body along with nasty stickers poking away deep in one's bra during the process of hoisting heavy back-breaking bales is no longer fun.
These days, for my own hay needs, the most difficult work I do is open the gate for the truck and write the check. And today, I'll be perfectly happy playing my role as driver as those tough young teens do their sweating and toiling.
5 comments:
your blog is back in its proper place!
You've reminded me of my days growing up on our dairy, where we grew our own alfalfa/hay. All we had was a hay loader and a bouncing truck to haul endless rows of bales. I mowed, raked, hauled from age 14 to 16 1/2, then I high-tailed it for an easy job in the grocery store. Haying taught me how to work. I've never done anything as hard since --DF Oliveria.
The absolute WORST part is unloading in the barn. Little if any ventilation to provide relief from the hay seeds clogging your nostrils and the intense heat, no safe place to step as your feet sink groin-deep in 'holes' between bales, and pidgeons taking pot shots at unsuspecting victims (right, Marianne?).
Ah,yes, hanging on to the seat with dear life, while tripping the tongs for making wind rows. Then graduation to driving. And that is how I learn to drive. Only to be bounce from that job by my younger brother, to be come a hay stomper on the truck and then at the stacks. (we didn't do bales until I was a teen, and we didn't have a lift to sent the bales to the top. Until after I left home.
I remember going to Minnesota for "vacation." My mother's family is from there, and we stayed with my aunt & uncle & their 13 children, and we (the kids) did the haying. I thought it was great fun at the time, and we had a big party afterwards. I also remember having the best meal of my life, fresh-picked corn and barbecued pork chops. I think my mom got embarrassed at how much I ate, but I still remember how good it all was. My sister swears it was because we worked so hard and were so hungry when we got done. She has different memories from me, and we were together most of the time.
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