The Hay Harvest

Picking up 500 odd bales of hay (small squares) out of the paddock is no easy task.  Especially in the summer heat.  So already from the time of our first harvest we have learnt to start in the early evening, and work into the night.

Back then our attire was also rather amateurish, what with bras, shorts, sneakers and all that.  And of course our daughter was much younger then - we used to put her to sleep, and take the baby monitor with us in the truck.  But if the baby monitor was inside the cabin, it would lose contact.  So I drove the truck, holding the steering wheel with one hand, while holding the baby monitor outside the window with the other hand, all the while watching that the bales would get picked up by the loading arm, and making sure the crew on the back was ok.

What a relief it was when my parents offered to help.  Even just having someone at the house to look after our daughter was a huge relief.

Since those early days, we've also invested in some serious harvesting clothes.  It wasn't a financial investment per se.  More a rummage through the cupboard.  Long sleeved collared shirts, farm boots, long pants that hang over the boots - strategically vented in my husband's case - and good leather gloves.  And all of a sudden you've got a team that's just as ready to go boot scootin, as picking up hay.

Last year we got new neighbours, and they offered to help.  Kar-Lee rocked up, gazed at me sitting in the drivers seat of the truck and commented "Oh, I didn't know you had a trucking license."  I gently rolled my eyes up to the sky, pouted, and muttered something about a few rounds in a private paddock.

Last year must have been easy work because this year the neighbours have offered to help again.  Richard is away fighting fires in the Grampians, so it's just Kar-Lee and kids.

When picking up the bales from the paddock, three people makes up full house on the back of the truck, so the other two kids just run along ahead of the truck, trying to fix up the bales so they align better for pick up.  But when it comes to unpacking the truck, and putting the bales in the shed, it's all systems go, and everyone's in the game.

The younger kids don't have much experience behind them, and at times they are like little mice, dashing across the hay bales here and there, and no matter where they go, they are always in the way.  And of course we're working into the night, so they are getting tired.

But they never lose their spirit, and keep going like little duracell drummer bunnies.  By the end of the second truck the hay stack has grown high, everyone is sneezing, the bales are starting to feel heavy and Kar-Lee's youngest son is swinging from the rafters.  We're in stitches.

Then Kar-Lee and the kids drive off to pick up Richard from two towns down the road.  All merriment vanishes in a puff of the dust they kick up as they drive off, and the night darkens somehow.  We load up the third truck in silence, interrupted by the occasional "slow down" from the truck tray.  We're half way through the unloading when Kar-Lee returns with Richard.  Kids are safely tucked in bed, dreaming of huge hay stacks.

We joke and laugh again, as the hay stack in the shed grows, and grows.  I line up the last four bales on the tray of the truck, and start boot scootin.  Then we're all back in the field picking up the last truck load for Bob.  There's still more bales left in the paddock, but we've run out of room on the truck.  We park the truck, and break open the beer.

The Cows

Winter is almost upon us and the cows have grown a nice long winter coat.  We've started feeding them hay.  I think there is still a lot of grass left in the paddock, as the horses only nibbled the hay, then moved on.  The cows made more of a meal out of the hay, then turned it into a nice warm bed.

Bob's Bevvy of Beauties

Mid morning - nothing.

I call mum. "Listen, don't come at lunchtime. He hasn't even flipped the hay yet. So if it does happen today it will happen later. I don't want to call and hassle him. I'll let you know."

"Ok", mum is very understanding.

And then the calvalcade rolls in. First the raking tractor. No flipping required. Soon afterwards the baler. One tractor follows the other a few laps apart. The ute, the truck and the loading arm are on standby in the adjacent paddock. Another ute and tractor are in the adjacent paddock, picking up the round bales. Each tractor is driven by a beautiful girl, smiling in the sunshine. Bob sits on his quad bike supervising.

What we don't see, but we do know, is that Bob's Bevvy of Beauties extends right back to the farmhouse, where R is probably very busy feeding the haying brigade.

I ring my mum. "Ok. We might do one truckful before dinner, but we'll take Sabina with us. Then we will go to the pub for dinner. Can you meet us back at the farm at 8pm?"

"We'll be there", she says.

In the meantime, someone had loaded the truck. I help Pete unload the 80 odd bales. We wash up, and go for dinner at the pub, loading up on protein.

After dinner mum and dad look after Sabina, while we collect our precious hay. The loading arm is fantastic. Sometimes the bales are so close together that they end up on the ramp one after another, 5 at a time. I hear them drop onto the truck with a thud as Pete fails to keep up with the workload. And I'm barely idling forward.

The hay is very rich this year and we cough and sneeze constantly.

Finally, at 2am the work is done. 308 bales put away in the shed, another 108 sitting on the truck for Bob. 100 bales already at Bob's. 80 bales still sitting in the paddock. That makes approximately 600 bales.

Drying

We're expecting a tractor any minute to come and flip the hay. We run over to the front of the house regularly and check. Nothing. The cut grass lies drying in the sun.

Bob's Cutting

When mum and dad left yesterday, they gazed at the long grass in the haying paddock, and promised to return at haying time.

Today, we are woken by the noise of the tractor. Pete and I run to the window, and stick our noses to the glass in the same manner as Sabina awaiting Santa. Our neighbour, Bob, is cutting his top paddock. We're next!

I ring mum and dad to tell them the good news. We'll be making hay within the next three days. They're on standby.

Sure enough, after lunch, the tractor enters our paddock, and the grass tumbles down, as though struck by a sickle. But hey, if that's Bob on the tractor, then he's become much younger, and grown a cute little goatie. Oh, and who's that sexy babe in the yellow top riding the tractor with him?

Meanwhile, another tractor is flipping the hay in Bob's top paddock. The driver is sporting a pigtail, and a red singlet with spagetti straps. That's not Bob either.

Then we notice the red quad bike. Bob is standing next to it, arms crossed against his chest, at least 4 dogs yapping around him. He's busily supervising his "bevvy of beauties".

In the evening the phone grows hot. I call Bob, and he confirms he will bale us on Tuesday. Then I call mum and we speculate on the time.

The farmer's wife

Amongst our family and friends, my husband gets title of "the farmer". Why? Because he builds fences. He chainsaws, collects and splits the wood. Because he's taken the jockey wheel off the trailer and rolls the contraption by hand when he wants to attach it to the tractor. Because our daughter says "Papa's hands are rough. Not smooth like mine or yours."

Me? When it came to rolling the trailer by hand, I gave it a single heave, and said "oh no, too heavy". We won't even mention my effort at building fences.

Today, the farmer is getting ready to go on a bike ride. Farmers do that, you know. And I need to get 12 bales of hay out for the horses.

The farmer is still in the garage tuning his bike when he hears the rumble of the tractor. He pops his head out to see the tractor towing a trailer full of hay. By the time he's returning from his bike ride, the tailer and tractor are standing quietly side by side in the shed.

The Harvest

We don't produce anything much on our farm as yet (stray bunnies, blue tongues and ducks excepted). But we do get a good crop of hay. Good hay.

Normally, the harvest is in by mid December, but this year, due to glorious rain, the raking and baling is being done as we speak. The truck arrives with a loading arm, and a helping hand called Mitch. I jump behind the wheel and stare back at the loading arm. We've never had anything this civilised. "Just drive slowly forwards so that the loader can pick up the bales", Mitch gives me a friendly wave, then he jumps onto the moving truck. The loading arm is fantastic. It scoots alongside of the truck, and scoops up bale after bale. Mitch and Pete stack the bales on the truck. Boof boof. Oops, I think I just drove over one. Oh well.

When the truck is full, the loading arm gets detached and we drive the truck to the shed. Unloading time. I get into the fun, games, dust and sinking between hay bales of stacking the hay in the shed. Not to mention the tired hands, heavy lifting and severely scratched legs. Sneezing abounds. Mitch looks like he may have done this before. I swear that next year I will wear jeans.

With 100 bales per truck, our share in done in three truck fulls. We load up the forth truck, and Mitch drives it down to Bob's. I go in the house and start preparing dinner. I see the truck arrive, and the collection goes on. I feel somewhat excluded. What was that about the "farmer's wife"? Or was it "women on farms"? Whatever, I wave my hand.

The last truck load is comleted in late dusk. 652 blales. 648 put away, 1 driven over, 2 burst while loading, and 1 too crooked to load. A harvest this easy I have never done.

(2007, 580 bales. Pete and I collected the lot. Just Pete, just the truck, just me. Took us 8 hours, we finished at 3am. The next day we ate all the eggs and meat in the fridge, in an attempt to recover).

(2006, 248 bales. Pete and I collected the lot. Just Pete, just the truck, just me. Took 5 hours, finished at 2am. We recovered two days later).

The Snake

Quite a collection of toys have now made it the hay house. Kettle, fry pan, dog bowl. I even spot my cup and spoon in there. The toys are spread throughout the little home, and as we leave for the day I am acutely aware that hay is really good at burying stuff. "We need to put all the toys away" I insist. "Mama, but why?". "Well, if we don't put the toys away, then snake will come and get them". The hay flies as the toys are quickly put into a box. "Gee I'm smart", I think to myself.

Fast forward to 2:20am. Yes, I'm asleep, but I get woken up by a little wimpering voice. I race to Sabina's room, cuddle her and ask her what happened. "Ba" she says (Ba is her toy sheep). "What happened to Ba?" I ask. "Snake" says the little fragile voice. I shake my head, gee I'm smart.

The Hay House

We wonder down to the big shed and Sabina sees the stack of hay bales. "Mama, lets roll down some hay" she suggests. I figure I'll need some anyway, so we may as well. She is sitting about 6 bales high and pushing them off the edge - all smiles. But after eight bales, the fun has to stop. What to do next? Build a hay house, of course. We build a "u" shaped house, about three bales high, with a fourth bale on top as the roof. It's brilliant. Like life-sized Lego. We play "house" visiting each other, making tea, lunch and dinner. Deep down I'm wanting to build another hay house, or perhaps add an extension to this one. Maybe we could make it split level?