The query on the lips of all ranch people these days is, “How’s your hay?” We call ourselves cattle ranchers, and that’s true, but the bottom line is that we convert sunshine into beef. And rain too, when there is any.
Even conversations among ranch wives concern the hay crop. Whether or not they are out on a tractor, they know that much of the year’s income is dependent on the amount of winter feed we can store.
Kids pick up on the trend early. I remember listening for the jingle of harness so as to run and let my mom know the crew was on the way in for a meal, and watching rain clouds build, knowing that might mean an early supper was in the works.
I didn’t get to work in the hayfield as a teen. The men in our neighborhood believed girls belonged in the house helping moms. But I always preferred outdoor work, and my children’s father enlisted me as an unpaid hired hand as soon as the kids were old enough to go to work too. Prior to that, they were generally in the yard playing hayfield, raking what I had mowed, then using toy tractors to push the grass into stacks and moving them into pretend stackyards. There’s nothing like the feeling of pride on a youngster’s face when he or she graduates to running that single bar mower in a first-time haying season.
My grandkids are the hay crew now, but it’s only a few years till they’ll go on to other lives, summer jobs and careers. We’ll be pleased if one of them wants to come back and repeat the cycle, but their parents vow not to put any pressure on their choices.
The best haying weather is gone. Hot afternoons allow a lot of work to get done, but mornings now are cool and damp; sometimes even foggy. It’s a warning that fall is waiting in the wings and we need to, indeed, make hay when the sun shines.
Ranchers complain about haying, and it is hard, hot, frustrating work. Few of us can afford new equipment and what we cobble together is forever breaking down, requiring a hunt for parts, trips to town, and time in the shop that shuts down the whole outfit, likely on the first dry day when real progress was happening.
I miss working in the hayfield though. Shutting off the tractor at long shadow time, sitting a moment to look across a field of bales that turn gold in the late sun. Walking to the pickup and knowing that you really accomplished something worthwhile, even though you can’t wait to get to the shower and wash off the grease and itchy hay dust.
My favorite smell is new mown hay. I don’t get to enjoy it that much these days but Prairie Girl Candle Company makes one called Hay Meadow, that’s almost as good as the real thing. Look for one, or better yet, if you drive by a hayfield, open the window, breathe deep, and give a wave to the folks who are building that steak for you.