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I’m much more involved with getting hay than I used to be. I plan it, organize it, man it, drive the truck, and even help unload. I don’t stack hay on the truck, and I don’t stack in the barn. That’s some heavy lifting. But I was up and down and in and out of three different trucks and a trailer yesterday unloading onto the hay elevator. When we arrived at the hay barn (the big hay barn, where I buy hay, not talking about my barn in this instance), I was walking around taking pictures as usual. I love that old barn. The hay man is used to me. I’ve been taking photographs of his barn for a couple of years now. Adam, one of my hired men, told him, “We call her picture woman.” But when we got back to my farm to unload, except when I took time out to take pictures and video, I was in there on top of the hay unloading down to Burgundy, one of my neighbor teenagers who was waiting for us back at my farm. I think when you hire people to help you put up hay, they respect you more if you get in there with them and work.
Hauling hay, I had Adam and Robbie with me, plus two of Adam’s little boys. They each drove a truck and they had a trailer, too. I drove my truck, and it’s the first time I’ve driven a truck with hay loaded. I was real proud I didn’t lose any getting home the first trip. We don’t have to talk about the second trip, except that man who stopped to help me pull the bales out of the road was very kind. And Adam and Robbie didn’t even laugh that hard when they came up on me.
Here are a few of my favorite photos from the big hay barn, because I can’t help myself, and back at my barn.
Please wait for the gallery to load. Press Play for the slideshow or Next to view at your own speed.
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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You won’t believe how we’re doing hay this year. We have a field that’s probably the size of a football field that my husband kept mowed last year. Well, I guess the mowing kept the weeds down and we have the most beautiful hay in that field. I love to watch the wind blow it — it looks like water moving! We have a tractor but no hay baler or cutter. We used to have someone cut it for us for half of the hay, but he’s now retired and no one else wanted to do it. SO . . . my husband built this ingenious box that we rig up with twine, stuff the hay into the box, tie the strings, open the box and out comes the most beautiful bale of hay. It’s gourmet hay! Big red clover, wild strawberries and the most beautiful grasses! He started out cutting it with a weedeater really low to keep the hay long, then decided to try to brush hog. Believe it or not, the hay was so tall that the brush hog still did a fine job and he rakes it into long rows and I grab big armfuls of the hay and stuff it into the box! I’ll have to post photos. Talk about doing it the hard way, but we couldn’t let that gourmet hay go to waste! My sheepies are going to love me this winter!
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Don’t miss the back-breaking work (we seldom had much help)and getting alfalfa was a whole different story. Heavy, heavy bales and stickery, too. But, oh that wonderful fragrance. We usually got about 300 bales of alfalfa for the goats and a once-in-a-while treat for the cattle, and about 550-600 bales of grass hay for the cattle.
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Around my parts, the Amish girls stack hay piece-meal. My former co-worker says they work harder than any teen boy.
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There’s no way I would have been able to stand there and watch them work without helping. It just wouldn’t seem right.
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Just curious whether the local people read your blog?
–Rain
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