We have been low on hay. All summer, as a matter of fact. Hay has been in very short demand due to the exceptional drought. The news always says, the drought in Texas, well, New Mexico is surely just as dry. Sure, there are irrigaters to water the fields, but hay has to be the right humidity to bale. One day I drove 20 miles to find hay. Even the feed stores were out, because like us, they get their hay from the farmers!
My dad was getting nervous about hay. His fields have been fallow all year. He has a friend who farms his acreage and since it is a dry land crop, it never rained enough for him to even plow! Last year he had a gorgeous crop of winter wheat and summer hay grazer. This year = zero.
We tried to buy hay from a local farmer about two weeks ago. Nothing, every stick was purchased by the dairies (yeah, thanks for that and four dollar milk!). We were going to try again. We were supposed to pick it up on Wednesday....it rained Tuesday night. You'd think I would be grateful for that, but if you have hay that isn't baled, it can't dry out in the rain! ARG! So, we were told Thursday morning. Fine. I made a call and my Dad hired my friend's high school son and his buddy. Extra muscle. Let's face it, Dad walks with a cane and I am a 39 year old woman who's had four kids. Not exactly very good DIY material.
So I decide to place another call and a friend loaned me a stock trailer. YAY! He owns and runs Knight Construction (free plug) and is a heck of a guy. And I am not just saying that because he loaned me a trailer!
I swing back to Dad's in his truck with the trailer and I am feeling really good about this. Wyatt and Nate (footballers! WOOT, Go RAMS) hop in and Dad announces that he is driving. Okay, his truck, his rules, but I drive the truck with this trailer, almost weekly in the summer, and am used to it. HE'S DRIVING! Okay, I get in shot gun, because Wyatt and Nate are gentlemen.
We pull up to the farm house and I call Hal. He says, go a half mile east and a quarter mile north and you'll see us. They haven't started to bale yet. I ask if we should call back after lunch. He chuckles and says, that would be too late. I totally did not understand what he meant by that.
So we went east and then north and then holy dust balls, batman. There were about ten trucks and trailers lined up at the edge of a cut circle (irrigated fields here are in circle form) waiting on the baler. At first the baler wasn't baling. Older gentlemen and one seriously tall farmer (Hal has to be almost seven foot) were inspecting the hay.
I spotted someone I knew (don't ask a name, I can never remember) and I wandered over. Which bugged Dad, because he wanted me to wait in the car, but Hello! I can network and get information!
I walked over and asked why everyone was here for my hay. I got a laugh and a chuckle and was told I was still ornery, which I promptly said was my Dad's fault. I was informed that we were all waiting on hay, and that it wasn't quite ready to bale yet.
Three more trucks with trailers pulled in behind us.
I told Dad and he was astounded. We had never been part of a hay derby before! We had always just pulled into Hal's barn, loaded and left. Every now and then, Hal would have us drive to the field and pick some up, but never had we waited in line to pluck it from the field!
Two more trucks pulled up, one with a huge flatbed trailer and about four people.
We waited. The baler moved through the circle, the bale slid out the back. It was inspected. It was found worthy. Two balers started up.
The first truck in the Que pulled into the circle as the baler started going along the raked row. The second truck in line waited. Another baler pulled around us and set to work. There were now about 18 trucks with trailers in the lineup!
Our turn came. I bungeed the trailer door open and the two young men walked and heaved the bales into the trailer. I stacked hay inside, then called to Wyatt that I was pooped. So I walked the ring with Nate, grabbing bales that had been deposited by the baler and thumping them into the trailer.
Twelve bales, Dad has to slow the truck a bit. Twenty bales and I am red faced and can now only walk along the truck and motion when Dad should slow down so Nate could load easier.
Forty bales. We have to stop on occasion so Nate can help Wyatt wedge the bales tightly into the trailer.
Fifty bales and the trailer is racked, stacked and packed. We take a breather and shut the trailer gate. We open the tail gate of the truck. There are three tractors towing balers. There must be a half dozen trucks slowly going along the circle, men and women tossing bale after bale onto the trailers.
We begin to load the truck up, Nate throwing them, Wyatt stacking them and me explaining how to "weave" the bales so they hold each other onto the truck.
Sixty-Eight bales. We climbed into the cab and started trying to rehydrate. I guided Dad over a gully in the field left by the irrigater wheels that had to have been two feet deep. We pulled to the side of the field and there were still trucks, waiting patiently. We handed our checks to a woman who was family to Hal and a retired teacher that knew Wyatt and Nate.
We slowly made our way home, unloaded and the old people collapsed, while I am sure Wyatt and Nate went to hang out with other teens before football practice at seven.
Never doubt the strength and stamina of a farmer. There were men there well into their sixties, slinging bales with ease. There were teens there, like Wyatt and Nate, that hauled, lifted and stacked, working a man's job, no complaining.
This area of the world is frugal in its rain, generous in its storms and wrath and creates a strength in people that is uncommon in this world. We joked about line jumping, it never happened. Gloves were exchanged to those who had none. Opinions and suggestions, support and laughter were currency used in abundance.
We all came for hay, we all received memories and God's blessing of community at the same time.
1 comment:
So glad you found hay! The CRP grass we are baling isn't the greatest. The horses are eating it, but reluctantly. But I am amazed at how the dairies are calling US begging for the stuff. In our 14 years of farming I have never seen that happen.
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