a moisture meter in hand. He told us to avoid the hay next to the close windrows, and said to take the hay adjacent to the windrows. We loaded up one grouping of ten, and then we were joined by Ray DePriest, who was driving a tractor with the hay pick up device on the front.
I know that there is a name for this thing, but I have no idea what it is. My hay equipment I.Q. is in the midrange because I went to agricultural school and there learned the name for the various pieces of farm equipment. Now that I think about it, they did not have hay pick up devices back then. The hay was loaded onto the trailers manually.
We had thought we’d be loading all the hay onto the trailer by hand; however, Ray saved the day. The hay pick up device consisted of a metal square with claws in the cross pieces. It was on a chain. He lowered it down on the cluster of 10 bales, picked it up, and put the bales on our trailer. We had to put a few bales in place manually, but for the most part, what I called the AARP device did the trick.
A cousin of the DePriest’s was close by – she took photos of the process of Ray’s moving the bales.
I considered it fortuitous that Ray was there with the device because I would have had a hard time loading the bales of hay onto the trailer. I have been moving a lot of boxes lately, today included, and I simply did not have the strength left to do this.
Feeling my strength wane is very depressing. Meanwhile, Pete was all over the place, pushing bales into place and, later, assisting in putting bales from the DePriest trailer onto our trailer.
A young fellow, Mac, gave him a hand. After, as Pete was tying the load in place (another thing I can’t do, this because I am not adept at tying knots), I talked at length with Mac who I think felt obligated to hang out. I commended him for being a mathematics major, thinking that he had chosen a field in which a job is a secondary concern. I later learned that he wants to be a data analyst, buy some land someplace, and make lots of money. So much for youthful idealism.
Each year, there is something just a bit different about getting hay. I wonder if I’ll remember all this next year.
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