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First cutting

You know that sick feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you have hay down and the thunderheads move in? We mowed both grass hay and alfalfa on Friday afternoon, risking the 30% chance of rain and pop-up showers forecast for the remainder of the week-end. We were blessed with a sunny, breezy Saturday afternoon, setting the stage for baling on Sunday afternoon. Very early Sunday morning I was awakened by the “ping, ping, ping” of raindrops on the bedroom windows and the brushing of pussy willow branches against the side of the house as the wind rushed through them. The rain lasted no more than thirty minutes, but came hard and fast. I busied myself with projects in the house while Jim went out to survey the situation. It wasn’t good.

The sky remained dark and the humidity soaked through my clothes as I walked into our little country church Sunday morning. Several members of our small congregation walked over to say how sorry they were to see our hay get wet. (We had 15 acres of grass hay down along the highway.)

The clouds moved away and made room for the sunshine for the next couple of hours, brightening the prospects for getting the stuff dried and baled up before the next wave of storms moved through, forecast to begin Monday. We weren’t so lucky this time. By early afternoon, the sky was once again dark and thunder rumbled across our valley. The heat lightening spider-webbed across the sky, reminding me of last summer’s drought when we would sit out in the sweltering July heat late at night and watch the sky light up and threaten to bring us that much-needed rainfall. It failed to rain last summer, but not last Sunday afternoon. Another downpour, lasting thirty minutes, left water standing in the driveway and garden. There was no way we could possibly get that grass hay dried and baled and our first-cutting of alfalfa would have to be raked up and fed within a short period of time. We began to mentally make lists of other cattlemen who would want some.

Once again, the storm clouds moved on making way for the sun. A gentle drying breeze blew throughout the rest of the day. I sunburned my arms when I cut back the pussy willows so they wouldn’t brush against the house the next time the wind blew.

The weather forecasts for Monday varied from a 60% chance of rain to a 30% chance of rain and/or pop-up showers. We know all about pop-up showers. We remained hopeful. What else could we do?

It was a foggy, humid morning as I drove the 30 miles to my office on Monday morning. When my husband called at 1pm, he was optimistic. He’d spent all morning raking the hay and thought the grass would dry well enough to bale later in the day, unless it got wet again. I told him I’d come home early to drive the tractor or truck, since he had 2 neighbor boys and a neighbor man lined up to help buck bales.

As it turned out, we had plenty of help. 4 of Jim’s students (all freshly-graduated star football players) showed up to help, along with a friend who did the square baling and another neighbor who helped pick up bales. I wasn’t even needed to drive the tractor or truck pulling the hayracks. I laughed as I watched the football players insist that my husband drive and let them do the heavy lifting.

The plan was to put up about 250 squares and round-bale the rest. Just 2 big round bales in, the baler broke down. Jim asked me if there was a reason that we were not supposed to get this hay baled. I couldn’t come up with one. I sped off on the 4-wheeler to make some phone calls to people we knew with balers. We’re not from here so our list was limited. No luck. Either the farmers I called were hurrying to beat the rains to get their own hay baled, they weren’t home, or they hadn’t even gotten their balers out for the season and couldn’t possibly be ready within the hour. The thunderheads were looming in the southwest. We had 15 acres of grass hay to bale.

I took off in the Blazer to find our good friend and neighbor Lashely Rohrbach, but couldn’t find him anywhere. I came back home and made some more phone calls. Still no luck. I jumped back in the Blazer to go on another search for Lashley when the young man whose baler had broken down stopped me and said Lashely was on his way with his new baler.

We got our hay baled. All 250 squares of both grass and alfalfa hay are in the barn. As Randon was pulling the tractor and baler into the barn at 11pm Monday night, the sky opened up and brought a torrential rain, wind, and lightening. The storm spawned tornadoes across parts of the midwest, destroying homes, farms, businesses, and taking lives.

Jim believes part of the alfalfa we baled in big rounds will spoil, but we got it up and baled. There are times when we feel “displaced” because we moved so far away from our friends and families to this little piece of heaven that is our ranch. There are times when we feel like outsiders. Monday night, when I hugged Lashley and thanked him for coming to our rescue, he just smiled and said “That’s what neighbors do.”