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 farmer wants his dinner

I am busy perparing dinner when I get a phone call from my husband. He is somewhere on the farm, finishing off something, as per usual. These were his words. "Listen, I am in cow shit. The cows from the neighbour's have broken out. They are all over the road. I have just rang the neighbours, but they need to go into town this evening. So they can't fix the fence. We have to round up the cows into our paddock."

I turn down the simmering pots, and head outside with Sabina. Keep in mind that I am still recovering from chemo here, and a walk to the road is a big effort. When I get there, I am very pleased to discover that he was only metaphorically speaking when he said he was "in cow shit". Phew!

Then we spend the better part of half an hour rounding up the cows into our paddock. Mainly it's a pretty passive and quiet task, as the cows take their time to decide - will they, won't they go through that gate?

And where does that leave our dinner? Well the potatoes got a bit too roasted, but somehow, everything else turned out fine.

Jake's 21st

It's dark and drizzling as we make our way up the driveway. We're all warm and cozy in our winter gear and Sabina has gone overdrive with monologue. "That's why I have two hands, one to hold Mama and one to hold Papa". At the end of the driveway we swing right, up the hill, then down to Phil Hill's for a festive celebration of his youngest 21'st birthday. Half the town seems to be there - it's nice to finally meet our other neighbours.

Sabina is a bit shy initially, but by the time dinner is served she is happy to sit next to me. And what a dinner it is. Local pig, slow cooked on the spit, with perfect crackling, loads of oven roasted vegies, and salads a plenty. We tuck in as though we haven't eaten for a week. Some of the vegies look local too. And on the way to the kitchen we spot a couple of beautiful pumpkins.

It's way past Sabina's bedtime and we need to leave before she turns into a pumpkin. Thrilling conversations are cut short, and we wander slowly into the darkness and up the hill. Sabina bravely walks all the way home, but once she's in bed, we don't hear another peep.

Bed time for us? There are logs to be moved, apparently. I change coats and we go outside.