So the weather has turned hot, and it reminds me of growing up on my grandparents farm. We used to hay on the weekends. I loved it. We'd hay all afternoon, my brother chasing us with a cooler full of those tiny drinks. When we were done for the day, we'd hose off and swim in the pool as the adults bbq'd and got the food ready. After the food was eaten, the conversation and laughs were spent, us kids would jump in the pool one last time before heading home to sleep the sleep of exhausted children.
This was my reality. However, this was not my friends reality of haying. While my grandfather had what you'd call a gentlemans farm, my friends parents had a real working farm. She couldn't understand why I would enjoy haying, and actively looked forward to it. She thought I was nuts, but was interested in capitalizing on my interest. So I was invited to join her, her dad, and all the farm hands in an afternoon of haying.
I was up for the challenge. I was pumped. Couldn't wait to spend the day in the field, sweating and working hard. Until I picked up my first bale of hay. It had to be 5 times the weight of my grandfathers bales. I could barely lift it. I had a dreadful thought: they aren't going to get lighter. So I put my first bale of hay on the truck, turned to my friend and said: "ok, well, I got to go now, bye!". And I left. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at me. The girl who loves to hay, who lifted one bale of hay and then bailed herself.
I was recently
talking to my friend and she told me her while family still laughs about that day and what a whimp I was. But in my defense, her dad was/is evil in his bale making activities. I truely believe that my grandfather had it right in the lighter, friendlier bales. Oh well, I still miss haying to this day, the smells, the family time, the pool time and the laughs. I just don'tiss evil heavy bales. Give me light ones anyday. Now I'll go back to chewing my cud....