HAY! Me, in my element.

Well, we did it.











We got a wagonload of hay into the haymow before the rain. It was supposed to go in on Saturday, except that we had a little problem with the hay elevator. I won't bother with the whole hay-elevator-function-thing, since some of you (and you know who you are!) already get it. Let's just say we ain't throwin the bales up there by hand.




By the time we got the links fixed and got it working, it was 9 pm and the sun was just about down. (I love summer evenings!) So we put up hay on Sunday. After church. Right up by the highway. Where all can see us workin on a Sunday. On Father's Day. I was workin on Father's day Sunday with my father and the father of my children, and the whole time thinking, what's in it for them? Well, Dad loves having critters to take care of, and my husband has the right idea about keeping his wife happy.

Hay is one of God's gifts. It's one of my favourite smells in the world. I always roll down the window when I drive past a field of fresh cut. But as with many of God's gifts, there's a big bad downside! The stalks are very sharp on the cut end, and the leaves, when dried, crumble into tiny bits that find their way into every crevice of your clothes and your sweaty body...which isn't nearly as sexy as it sounds, let me tell you. When you're haying, you have to wear denim or you'll end up with red welts all over your skin from being scratched. Also, hay season takes place in the summer heat. Say no more. It was mercifully breezy, although it blew the hay around something bad, but, it was also brutally humid.

There's a trick to flinging hay bales. We've never used a hay fork, not sure why, it just isn't the way my Grandfathers did it so we don't either. Each bale is held together with two parallel twines. I grab the twine furthest from me, pull the bale toward me, then grab them both and hoist it up onto my thighs. This way the weight is on my legs instead of pulling on my back. Then when you let it go, you kind of give it the old Pelvic Swing and let the bale go just at the right time.

How is my back? Not much worse than before. I was on the wagon, so I had the easiest job. Most of the time I could roll the bales towards me and let gravity work. The bottom row was really difficult though, because I had to pick them up. Dad was up in the mow, stacking them. Poor old Jethro was on the ground, taking them off the wagon and setting them on the elevator, getting all the chaff blown into his face. I was picking tiny flakes of hay out of his ears in the shower last night. (That actually was much sexier than it sounds!)

I took the kids up to the haymow for a look around. It's like a different world up there. The humidity that zapped us outside, was gone. The spaces between the barn boards let in only a cool gentle breeze, and diffused the harsh cloudless light into a hazy glow. It smelled sweet. Unseen birds hiding in the rafters chirped as if we weren't even there.

I remembered playing up there, always aware that in an old barn like this, you could fall through the floor at any time, and only now wondering how an old barn can hold up tons of hay but will snap under the weight of a 70lb child! Here's the floor under my feet....

Long before our time, these big wooden wheels were used to pull the entire hay wagon up to the mow level, where it would be unloaded. I still can't quite picture how that worked.

I treasure this barn. Never again will these be built; look at the axe marks, and wooden pegs holding the beams together.

My little part time farm kids.

My ol man.

Flakes of hay stuck to my chest.

The reason why we do all this.

I didn't get to ride, since my plan was to put hay in on Saturday, then spend Sunday visiting the Dads, then riding. Well, it was important to visit the Dads and we did. The horses got a pat and a cuddle and then I left them wanting more.

I feel like I can get through the week now. I feel like a very lucky little girl.