Hay cutting seemed to come early this year.
I think it must be because the winter was so late in leaving, the spring was quite cool and we had ample rain – all features that grass seemed to like.
From day to day, you could see how much it had gained in height. We had a new fence installed along the side of our front field, and it appeared from my window that the posts were getting shorter and shorter.
On checking the long-term weather forecast on both TV and computer on the Thursday evening, the indication was that there would be a four-day window of exceptional sunny weather. So down went the three fields that we had available for cutting, one after the other, on the Friday. The mower had been recently checked for any adjustments needed, was well greased, and no problems arose.
Saturday arrived bright and clear with the indication that no dew had arrived during the evening. The brisk winds that crossed the fields were just what the sun needed as a helper. By late afternoon, the three fields had been raked and tedded. The windrows curled neat and set up nice to aid drying.
The proverbial “make hay while the sun shines,” regardless of what day, found Sunday arriving with a heavy dew, so baling was delayed until late in the morning. Then, assisted by a grandson and a couple of willing neighbours, the thump, thump, thump of the baler could be heard as they circled the largest field. Then the baler became cantankerous. The knotter acted up. It refused to tie the bales.
If you have ever seen the complications of one of these apparatuses, you would wonder little why there was a two-hour delay as my son figured out the reason, and on straightening out the bent part and rethreading the twine, the thump, thump, thump was heard again.
By darkness, the largest field, loaded directly onto the wagon, was finished and in the barn. The balance must wait till Monday.
Monday morning arrived with no dew on the grass so an early start was possible. The help arrived by ten and the thump, thump, thump could be heard once again as they circled each of the remaining smaller fields.
Load after load, as the day before, went up the elevator into the loft of the barn. The hay was dry, green, and sweet-smelling. The counter on the baler read just under 600 bales.
Ten minutes after the last bale tipped off the high end of the elevator, the pitter-patter of rain could be heard on the metal barn roof.
What better luck could you want? Could it be that I have a direct line with someone up above?
Or could it be the work of a guardian angel?
Take care, ’cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105