The Last Hay Field

We are harvesting the last hay field.

To this point I have worn out three t-shirts, one pair of gloves, two pair of jeans and my tennis shoes are starting to fall apart. Hay season is tough on the wardrobe.

One year, my brother Jim was helping us with the hay harvest. Each day he would show up for work with a new hole worn in his jeans from bucking hay. Each day he would pull out a roll of duck tape and fashion a repair on the newest tear. On the last day of hay season he looked like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz. He was pleased that he was able to make the one pair of jeans last the whole hay season, but he found out the hard way just how hot a pair of duck tape jeans are.

I was talking with my right hand helper the other day and mentioned that I like hay season, and that I really like the end of hay season. The excitement that I feel when the first field is mowed and the empty barns start to fill with the sweet smell of fresh bales, to the long, sweltering days spent on tractors, rolling bales in the field, to stacking and un-stacking the truckloads tends to turn to slow determination.

I am starting to get excited about the end of hay season for this year.