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It is with great relief and a fist full of benadryl, that I announce "the first cutting is in the barn!" Yee ha--what a summer it has already been.
You may remember that last summer, the very kind firefighter around the corner, GAVE me his 3 acre field of grass/alfalfa hay. It was my first time to be master of my own destiny and what a lot did I learn! I learned head knowledge about hay and made contacts. I learned to be obsessed with the weather forecast and then to not trust anything I heard. I learned that no matter how well my plans were laid, I really had no control over anything. And I learned not to cry, because trusting the Lord is much more rewarding, even in matters of animal fodder.
So this year, I have that same field and I called my "Hay Guy" from last year. He was glad to hear from me and tipped me off that he would be fishing in Canada the first week of June. I could/should call him whenever I thought the weather was ripe for cutting...dum dum dum...heavy hangs the head that wears the hay crown.
Now last year, the month of June was NINE INCHES over for precipitation. Last year I didn't get the hay cut until JULY 3--AND THEN IT RAINED ON CUT HAY FOR TWELVE HOURS on the fourth of July. Do you see the ulcers forming in my duodenum? I get a twitch over my eye just typing "rain on hay for twelve hours". I prayed for a new learning experience this year...learned the whole rain lesson, Lord, TYVM.
So this year, I called the Hay Guy the Sunday, a week before Memorial Day and by golly, we got her done! And the absolute most wonderful thing happened to me--I got to drive the tractor with the baler attached. It was one of the highlights of my life--I know I could not stop smiling. I almost cried. I will never forget how wonderful it was. There was just something about the perfect weather, bright sunshine, the great smell of the hay and the process that just charmed me.
And then, Handyman actually got off work at a reasonable hour and he showed up at the field while I was driving the tractor. Could it get better?? There was a small crimp in the happiness when Handyman tried to back the hay wagon up to our barn. You may be nodding your head right now, thinking "You CANNOT back a hay wagon." And you'd be right in saying just that.
I was in the hayloft at that time, sweeping vigorously in order to keep my lips together. #1 was down below, yelling directions at her father, and then yelling up at me to call my neighbor to come over to back the wagon FOR her father. I explained to her that I would do no such thing and that she should keep her lips zipped.
45 minutes later, we settled for having the haywagon in the same field as the barn and cursed our complete lack of foresight in how we laid this whole place out. It is completely unhandy, in every possible way--But it looks nice from the driveway. Fortunately we had hired two teenage boys to loft the bales from the trailer across the three-foot gap to the barn loft door. We kept the teenage girls in the loft, catching the bales.
No elevator this time--Handyman thinks elevators are for wimps--okay, not really. But we were in a hurry, what with all that time spent trying to back towards the barn, from the north, from the west and then the north again. The rain has been pretty frequent since then and I see lots of hay still in fields all around here, almost falling over.
And I'm SO completely thankful to have my first cutting successfully put up! I'm looking forward to getting at least one more cutting and HOPING I get to drive the baler again. I'd be willing to pay more just for the chance to do it. Call me crazy!
Showing posts with label hay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hay. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Friday, October 9, 2009
Hay Day!
The day came, bright and sunny. The tractor was already working its way around the field when I got the call from Field Owner. My excitement at finally seeing bales was "dampened" by the color of bales. It was a little sad to see what had been a glorious green field, packaged up into brown bales. The brown-ness was only on the top layer; as the hay was lifted into the baler, you could see green underneath. And I began to be more confident that the Hay Guy had done the right thing, letting it lay in place to dry.
Although Neighbor Rob was worried that it was still dampish...but his worries were for naught. Hay Guy's plan saved what could have been a complete debacle and earned my everlasting loyalty. (He later told the field owner that had I not called him all the time, he might have blown off the job altogether! Score one for tenacity.)
Neighbor Rob owns a couple of older hay wagons and we asked if we could hitch one onto the tractor/baler combo. Hay Guy didn't want to wait for us to get back with the wagon, but we assured him he could keep going.
At this point, Handyman was about 15 miles away putting in a window with my dad. I was feeling overly conscientious about having men putting up my hay, who had no vested interest in it, i.e. the gracious Field Owner who owns not one horse. He had already given me the field, for free. It was hay he could have made money on, but gave it to me as a thanks for driving his "punkins" to Awana last year. No big deal to me, at all.
And now there he was, putting up hay for the first time ever, while I'm burning up the cel phone to Handyman saying, "Are you comin?! Are you done yet?!" Now Handyman is not one to be budged, especially when a job is coming to its rightful completion. So we continued on.
I had offered some of the hay to another neighbor across the street from me, since they had graciously hauled Reno home two summers ago, for free. Reno, the free 24 year-old horse, had refused to get into the first trailer I "borrowed" and I had called them, on the verge of desperation, since they had a stock-type trailer, thinking he might consider that bigger. I was right. And I wanted to pay them back in some way.
So they came with their old tractor and wagon and kids on the back. It made for quite a little traveling party as we all circled the field. Field Owner was meeting new neighbors and experiencing what he'd missed in his cushy-suburban youth. Handyman did show up in time to pitch-in, and #1 got to drive our SUV pulling a trailer around the field. The highlight of her summer. She took her responsibility very seriously. And I was too busy to shoot even one picture! So bummed. It was such a pleasant afternoon.
At the end, there was 297 bales. Not bad for a 2+ acre field. We are so fortunate to have another neighbor with an elevator, free for the borrowing. But first Handyman headed over to Neighbor Rob's to help throw 95 bales up into his loft. The elevator doesn't fit there, as he has a lower slope and lower loft floor, so it was hand tossing, just to keep the old pecs in shape.
Then we loaded the elevator out of the neighbor's loft, hauled it home, set it up and Neighbor Rob's wife, Chris, my dad and I were on the receiving end of 75 more bales. It's always rewarding to labor, and it's so much more fun with friends.
My mom had made a big pot of spaghetti for everyone, but we were all in and separated by the end of the evening. Field Owner ate with us, at 9pm, but it wasn't quite the party I had envisioned.
Second cutting, here we come. In the Hay Maven's world, it ain't over yet!
Although Neighbor Rob was worried that it was still dampish...but his worries were for naught. Hay Guy's plan saved what could have been a complete debacle and earned my everlasting loyalty. (He later told the field owner that had I not called him all the time, he might have blown off the job altogether! Score one for tenacity.)
Neighbor Rob owns a couple of older hay wagons and we asked if we could hitch one onto the tractor/baler combo. Hay Guy didn't want to wait for us to get back with the wagon, but we assured him he could keep going.
At this point, Handyman was about 15 miles away putting in a window with my dad. I was feeling overly conscientious about having men putting up my hay, who had no vested interest in it, i.e. the gracious Field Owner who owns not one horse. He had already given me the field, for free. It was hay he could have made money on, but gave it to me as a thanks for driving his "punkins" to Awana last year. No big deal to me, at all.
And now there he was, putting up hay for the first time ever, while I'm burning up the cel phone to Handyman saying, "Are you comin?! Are you done yet?!" Now Handyman is not one to be budged, especially when a job is coming to its rightful completion. So we continued on.
I had offered some of the hay to another neighbor across the street from me, since they had graciously hauled Reno home two summers ago, for free. Reno, the free 24 year-old horse, had refused to get into the first trailer I "borrowed" and I had called them, on the verge of desperation, since they had a stock-type trailer, thinking he might consider that bigger. I was right. And I wanted to pay them back in some way.
So they came with their old tractor and wagon and kids on the back. It made for quite a little traveling party as we all circled the field. Field Owner was meeting new neighbors and experiencing what he'd missed in his cushy-suburban youth. Handyman did show up in time to pitch-in, and #1 got to drive our SUV pulling a trailer around the field. The highlight of her summer. She took her responsibility very seriously. And I was too busy to shoot even one picture! So bummed. It was such a pleasant afternoon.
At the end, there was 297 bales. Not bad for a 2+ acre field. We are so fortunate to have another neighbor with an elevator, free for the borrowing. But first Handyman headed over to Neighbor Rob's to help throw 95 bales up into his loft. The elevator doesn't fit there, as he has a lower slope and lower loft floor, so it was hand tossing, just to keep the old pecs in shape.
Then we loaded the elevator out of the neighbor's loft, hauled it home, set it up and Neighbor Rob's wife, Chris, my dad and I were on the receiving end of 75 more bales. It's always rewarding to labor, and it's so much more fun with friends.
My mom had made a big pot of spaghetti for everyone, but we were all in and separated by the end of the evening. Field Owner ate with us, at 9pm, but it wasn't quite the party I had envisioned.
Second cutting, here we come. In the Hay Maven's world, it ain't over yet!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Hay There!
And the rain came pouring down...on my freshly cut field of overgrown, stemmy, hay. The best laid plans of mavens came crashing down. The feed store owner, who I had clung to for reassurance through the rains of June, told me to just stop worrying about. There was nothing to be done.
And he didn't say this, but having been through the year that I've been through, I was able to keep in mind: 1) Worry is sin--it truly is. It is saying that your plans are better than God's and He'd better get things straightened out to please Me; and 2)There are way bigger fish to fry than a little field of hay. We paid $6/bale a couple winters ago and we made it, so all things considered, this was a hemorrhoid, not a crisis.
Being the complete hay ignoramus that I am/was, I called Hay Guy to ask about whether he was going to flip it over to dry it. (There are all kinds of pieces of mystery equipment with wheels going every which way that can flip the furrow of hay over 180 degrees and put it back down in place.) That seemed like what we should do, but Hay Guy said no, he wasn't going to touch it for a couple of days, that raking or flipping or spreading it back out or whatever would simply knock all the leaves off of it and he wanted to "leave" it sit and dry.
(Another lesson I learned this past year: It's okay to just accept your circumstance and do the best with what you are actually in control of--and not try to manipulate.) So, I watched and waited and drove by the field, watching the lovely hay turn a glorious shade of drab brown with whisks of gold--great for straw, painful for hay.
And then, there he was, a tractor out of the mist...since the field is around the corner from me, I never even see what direction the Guy rolls in from or how he gets there. He's there, he waves and has hay crumbs stuck all over him.
In the interim, I am trying to arrange how we are going to pick up all this stuff and what we're going to carry it on and where we are going to put it. You can leave the bales lay in the field overnight if you have to, but there is definitely a theft possibility (especially two years ago when hay was going for $25/bale in CA and FL). Also there's the dew factor, so the best plan is to get it picked up immediately.
I talked on the phone so much that week, my cel phone battery would get hot. It was ridiculous and all my calls were to men. The Hay Guy, Handyman, the Field Owner, Neighbor Rob. Bunch of men on speed dial--who wouldn't love it?!
I remembered when I was in 8th grade and we had moved to the boonies, so I could have a horse. I begged my mom to let me join the boys 4H club. Because girls were snotty and prissy and I didn't fit in. But boys, boys just want to goof around and they'll take ya. What you see is what you get. If they don't like you, you'll know it and you can move on.
But girls, girls are awash in false impressions and facades. You're never quite sure if you're standing on solid ground or about to have the rug yanked out from under you...all this to say, it was a little fun, I love to arrange things. I especially love to arrange things when things work out. All the convolutions are worth it, when the pieces come together.
And he didn't say this, but having been through the year that I've been through, I was able to keep in mind: 1) Worry is sin--it truly is. It is saying that your plans are better than God's and He'd better get things straightened out to please Me; and 2)There are way bigger fish to fry than a little field of hay. We paid $6/bale a couple winters ago and we made it, so all things considered, this was a hemorrhoid, not a crisis.
Being the complete hay ignoramus that I am/was, I called Hay Guy to ask about whether he was going to flip it over to dry it. (There are all kinds of pieces of mystery equipment with wheels going every which way that can flip the furrow of hay over 180 degrees and put it back down in place.) That seemed like what we should do, but Hay Guy said no, he wasn't going to touch it for a couple of days, that raking or flipping or spreading it back out or whatever would simply knock all the leaves off of it and he wanted to "leave" it sit and dry.
(Another lesson I learned this past year: It's okay to just accept your circumstance and do the best with what you are actually in control of--and not try to manipulate.) So, I watched and waited and drove by the field, watching the lovely hay turn a glorious shade of drab brown with whisks of gold--great for straw, painful for hay.
And then, there he was, a tractor out of the mist...since the field is around the corner from me, I never even see what direction the Guy rolls in from or how he gets there. He's there, he waves and has hay crumbs stuck all over him.
In the interim, I am trying to arrange how we are going to pick up all this stuff and what we're going to carry it on and where we are going to put it. You can leave the bales lay in the field overnight if you have to, but there is definitely a theft possibility (especially two years ago when hay was going for $25/bale in CA and FL). Also there's the dew factor, so the best plan is to get it picked up immediately.
I talked on the phone so much that week, my cel phone battery would get hot. It was ridiculous and all my calls were to men. The Hay Guy, Handyman, the Field Owner, Neighbor Rob. Bunch of men on speed dial--who wouldn't love it?!
I remembered when I was in 8th grade and we had moved to the boonies, so I could have a horse. I begged my mom to let me join the boys 4H club. Because girls were snotty and prissy and I didn't fit in. But boys, boys just want to goof around and they'll take ya. What you see is what you get. If they don't like you, you'll know it and you can move on.
But girls, girls are awash in false impressions and facades. You're never quite sure if you're standing on solid ground or about to have the rug yanked out from under you...all this to say, it was a little fun, I love to arrange things. I especially love to arrange things when things work out. All the convolutions are worth it, when the pieces come together.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Here we go again...
Summer has wound down, against my will. I even became a morning person this summer, hoping to get some extra credit, but no--the evenings are creeping in earlier and earlier. I think I wore socks to bed last night--that's a sure sign.
We had several weeks of dry, beautiful weather, that provided a glorious ending to my first summer as a hay maven. What is a hay maven, you may wonder? It is an extremely stressful position wherein you have access to a wonderful field of hay, thus providing winter fodder for your large lawn ornaments.
The trick is, you own no hay equipment. So, you have to find someone who will bale a small field--which is a detriment, the smallness. So you have to find someone who is willing to come to your little field to cut the hay, rake the hay and bale the hay, while the sun shines. And it will never be a set-in-stone appointed date because the ultimate decider of hay cutting, is Mother Nature! (Cue lightning.)
I began my summer as a hay maven with high hopes and my eternally willing-to-learn attitude. When I requested the option on said field, I was planning on splitting the spoils with my neighbor/friends Rob and Chris, who had hay equipment. When I got the option on the field, I found out that Rob and Chris had sold their hay equipment. Oops.
So, the learning process began. The first hay guy (not really sure of the correct title here), wanted $3.25/bale, laying in the field (this means I have to do the labor of picking up the bales and loading them on a trailer), OR he wanted 2/3 of the hay and no charge per bale. That seemed kinda high for me, so I approached my local feed store owner, (not the chain store). The local store owner also happened to have two ladies selling horse feed standing there when I came in. They all gave their opinions, agreeing with me that that was too high of a price and encouraging me to ask for a better deal. They said surely he would be willing to work with me on this...
I made Handyman make the call to the Hay Guy and request a deal change. I am such a weenie. The call lasts all of twenty seconds and Handyman reports that the guy said he wasn't interested in either splitting it 60/40 or 50/50 and there was no offer to change the price. Deal's off. Back to square one...
So, my stomach produces large quantities of acid and I start looking up weather predicting websites. I called a local farm co-op, in the smallest town nearby and asked for a referral for a "hay guy". The first name they gave me, I called. He seemed nice enough and seemed knowledgeable, and told me that at some point, I'd be mad at him. That's just how hay goes. I told him we were hardworking, honest people who just didn't want to be taken advantage of. He told me to watch for the bloom on my alfalfa and call him when I wanted him to cut it.
Then the roller coaster left the building. That was in early June. About the second week of June the alfalfa started blooming and I became a weather aficionado. I stayed up late to watch the weather every night and it rained, regularly. There was a name for this particular type of weather. I think it is "monsoon".
June started tapering off, the hay was as tall as an elephant's eye and still the rain would not stop. There was a four-day window of sunshine coming and the Hay Guy asked if I wanted him to cut it. I checked all twelve weather websites and they said it was going to rain on Thursday night. So on a very sunny Monday, I told him no, don't cut. It's going to rain on Thursday night.
On Tuesday, it was beautiful. But the weather man, woman and websites said it was going to rain on Thursday night. On Wednesday, it was warm and sunny, but the weather divas all warned of the rain on Thursday night.
Teachable moment: Once the hay is cut, it lays in the field for several days to dry, depending on the weather. It cannot be baled when wet or it will mold and all your money will end up on the burn pile, literally. We were having really cool nights in June, so our mornings had really heavy dew, which means more days to dry. More moisture means nutrition is leached out of the hay each time it is damp and then dries.
On Thursday night, I watched the late news and they said it was going to rain, THAT night. It did not.
My stomach began this little motion not unlike my washer on the spin cycle. It was now Friday and the weatherman said it was going to rain on Sunday. So I told the Hay Guy, don't cut it today either, because it's going to rain on Sunday.
Saturday was picture-perfect, but I knew it was going to rain on Sunday night.
I watched the news on Sunday, and they said it was going to rain that night. It did not.
By now, I was hyperventilating. The hay was almost taller than me. Everyone who lived nearby commented on "how tall the hay is". I demonstrated for my children, how you can keep yourself from smacking people when you really, really want to.
On Monday, I told the Hay Guy to cut it--I can't take it anymore. But, he can't. Seems he was cutting someone else's field, next to an area of home building and someone had thrown a 6x6 post into the hay field early in the year. He hit it with his mower and it would take two days to repair. He'd try to get to my on Wednesday.
On Wednesday his son had a motorcycle accident and broke his collarbone. (Dumb kid! What's he thinking?? Doesn't he know what I've got on the line?!) So his biggest helper is out of the picture. He'll try to get to me on Friday.
On Friday, he cuts the hay! It is an amazing, wonderful feeling. I want to run through the field, in slow motion of course, leaping and smiling. The day is July 3. The hay coulda/shoulda been cut weeks before, but we were 8 inches over in precip for the month of June!! On Saturday, the fourth of July, it rains for the entire day.
My hay, stemmy and long, is lying in the field for about 8 straight hours of steady downpour. I am lying facedown on my bed, muttering. There is nothing I can do...
We had several weeks of dry, beautiful weather, that provided a glorious ending to my first summer as a hay maven. What is a hay maven, you may wonder? It is an extremely stressful position wherein you have access to a wonderful field of hay, thus providing winter fodder for your large lawn ornaments.
The trick is, you own no hay equipment. So, you have to find someone who will bale a small field--which is a detriment, the smallness. So you have to find someone who is willing to come to your little field to cut the hay, rake the hay and bale the hay, while the sun shines. And it will never be a set-in-stone appointed date because the ultimate decider of hay cutting, is Mother Nature! (Cue lightning.)
I began my summer as a hay maven with high hopes and my eternally willing-to-learn attitude. When I requested the option on said field, I was planning on splitting the spoils with my neighbor/friends Rob and Chris, who had hay equipment. When I got the option on the field, I found out that Rob and Chris had sold their hay equipment. Oops.
So, the learning process began. The first hay guy (not really sure of the correct title here), wanted $3.25/bale, laying in the field (this means I have to do the labor of picking up the bales and loading them on a trailer), OR he wanted 2/3 of the hay and no charge per bale. That seemed kinda high for me, so I approached my local feed store owner, (not the chain store). The local store owner also happened to have two ladies selling horse feed standing there when I came in. They all gave their opinions, agreeing with me that that was too high of a price and encouraging me to ask for a better deal. They said surely he would be willing to work with me on this...
I made Handyman make the call to the Hay Guy and request a deal change. I am such a weenie. The call lasts all of twenty seconds and Handyman reports that the guy said he wasn't interested in either splitting it 60/40 or 50/50 and there was no offer to change the price. Deal's off. Back to square one...
So, my stomach produces large quantities of acid and I start looking up weather predicting websites. I called a local farm co-op, in the smallest town nearby and asked for a referral for a "hay guy". The first name they gave me, I called. He seemed nice enough and seemed knowledgeable, and told me that at some point, I'd be mad at him. That's just how hay goes. I told him we were hardworking, honest people who just didn't want to be taken advantage of. He told me to watch for the bloom on my alfalfa and call him when I wanted him to cut it.
Then the roller coaster left the building. That was in early June. About the second week of June the alfalfa started blooming and I became a weather aficionado. I stayed up late to watch the weather every night and it rained, regularly. There was a name for this particular type of weather. I think it is "monsoon".
June started tapering off, the hay was as tall as an elephant's eye and still the rain would not stop. There was a four-day window of sunshine coming and the Hay Guy asked if I wanted him to cut it. I checked all twelve weather websites and they said it was going to rain on Thursday night. So on a very sunny Monday, I told him no, don't cut. It's going to rain on Thursday night.
On Tuesday, it was beautiful. But the weather man, woman and websites said it was going to rain on Thursday night. On Wednesday, it was warm and sunny, but the weather divas all warned of the rain on Thursday night.
Teachable moment: Once the hay is cut, it lays in the field for several days to dry, depending on the weather. It cannot be baled when wet or it will mold and all your money will end up on the burn pile, literally. We were having really cool nights in June, so our mornings had really heavy dew, which means more days to dry. More moisture means nutrition is leached out of the hay each time it is damp and then dries.
On Thursday night, I watched the late news and they said it was going to rain, THAT night. It did not.
My stomach began this little motion not unlike my washer on the spin cycle. It was now Friday and the weatherman said it was going to rain on Sunday. So I told the Hay Guy, don't cut it today either, because it's going to rain on Sunday.
Saturday was picture-perfect, but I knew it was going to rain on Sunday night.
I watched the news on Sunday, and they said it was going to rain that night. It did not.
By now, I was hyperventilating. The hay was almost taller than me. Everyone who lived nearby commented on "how tall the hay is". I demonstrated for my children, how you can keep yourself from smacking people when you really, really want to.
On Monday, I told the Hay Guy to cut it--I can't take it anymore. But, he can't. Seems he was cutting someone else's field, next to an area of home building and someone had thrown a 6x6 post into the hay field early in the year. He hit it with his mower and it would take two days to repair. He'd try to get to my on Wednesday.
On Wednesday his son had a motorcycle accident and broke his collarbone. (Dumb kid! What's he thinking?? Doesn't he know what I've got on the line?!) So his biggest helper is out of the picture. He'll try to get to me on Friday.
On Friday, he cuts the hay! It is an amazing, wonderful feeling. I want to run through the field, in slow motion of course, leaping and smiling. The day is July 3. The hay coulda/shoulda been cut weeks before, but we were 8 inches over in precip for the month of June!! On Saturday, the fourth of July, it rains for the entire day.
My hay, stemmy and long, is lying in the field for about 8 straight hours of steady downpour. I am lying facedown on my bed, muttering. There is nothing I can do...
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