There is something to be said for hauling hay bales.  Those of us who have done it may run the gamut of feelings about doing so—from ‘I hated having to haul bales’ to ‘gotta get it done’ to ‘I love being out there on the hay rack’—all are legitimate things to say.  I fall towards the ‘love’ side.  Some of that has to do with my love of the animals we were feeding the hay to—if you have horses, you have to put up hay, even if it’s stacking the bought hay in the hayloft.  The same goes for straw bales for bedding in the stalls.  It’s all part of caring for the animals we love.  I also loved being outdoors—driving the tractor or bracing my legs on the hay rack as we bumped over the stubble or stacking high on the pile as we completed a load.  It was usually hot, sometimes muggy, always sweaty and dirty.  And it was awesome!  The thing about putting up hay—small square bales and back in the day—was it was a team effort.  (Not that my Dad never let the tractor run down the field by itself while he picked up and stacked by himself.)  For efficiency and some peace of mind, family, friends, and young, strong helpers were recruited to help with the work that needed to be done.  So we did it together.

This photo was taken in the early 60’s when I was too young yet to help with hay, but this is my Mom and Dad and Grandpa Andrew.

Most of the hay these days is rolled up into big round bales and hauled with tractors and trucks.  But we did something this week that reminded me of the old hay-hauling days.  We did some outreach in our ‘Battle of the Buckthorn.’  Most of the large buckthorn trees on our property have been removed thanks to the diligence and hard work of Chris, so we were glad to help some young friends of ours with their overgrown buckthorn problem.  Armed with gloves, saws, pullers, and loppers, we went to work in the hot, slightly muggy afternoon.  We sweated, got dirty, made big piles, and cleared the invasive trees from under the pines, oaks, and cedars.

While working, we also kept an eye on the kids who ran a lemonade stand for the passersby in the neighborhood.  When the afternoon’s work was done, we sat down together for ‘a little lunch’ as my Grandmas used to call it.  With tired bodies and a distinct feeling of satisfaction for the work we just accomplished together, we ate a sweet treat with relish and appreciation.  We were like modern day hay haulers—working together to do a big, physical job and feeling the satisfaction in our bodies and souls that we could do it together.