Recently we got up our hay. This is one of the only things we do that makes us a true farm, as we do sell the hay. Let me just say, I can't think of many things worse than getting up hay.
First, it's always about 95* and humid as all-get-out the day the bales are prime for pickup.
And of course, because hay is itchy, you can't just wear a little tank top and shorts.
There's a reason farmers wear bibs!
To keep out the itchies from hay, to protect against chiggers and ticks.
So you've got long sleeves on and long pants, and sometimes a hat to protect from the sun.
And did I mention it's 95*?!?!?
So you walk through the pasture picking up bales while someone drives the truck alongside. Or else if you don't have any help, you drive the truck 10 feet, stop, pick up a bale, toss it on the back, then drive another 10 feet. And so forth.
One year, the bales were really dense because we cut late and had a very moist spring.
Those bales were so heavy that I was sore for days afterwards.
I could hardly lift them, much less toss them on the back of the truck.
However, since I had the boys, I have gotten out of my hay duties. Someone has to watch the boys! That person is me. And every year, come hay baling time, I'm so eternally grateful to be inside wrangling children instead of hay bales, basking in the a/c.
So grateful I'm all, "Pierce could I make you some cupcakes? Perhaps I could buy you a new bike?"
All too soon, the boys will be old enough to at least walk along with the truck as I return to the fields to bale hay again.
But until that day comes, I'm thankful for my all-to-brief hay hiatis.
And, um, I'd be amiss if I didn't say, "Good job, Paul! WTG on getting up the hay!" :-)