|Easily several thousands of small square bales in this field alone.|
|Jack using his eagle scout skills and tying down the hay. Only one flew off on the way home, ha!|
It has lowered the price of hay immensely and thanks to some friends’ connections, we saved another dollar per bale since we picked it up out of the field and drove it home ourselves.
Some of the farmers felt the need to give me flack, thinking this was my first experience slinging hay. “Rule number one,” said a white-haired, eighty-year-old man as I jogged by in shorts to the truck, “wear long pants.”
|We only had a mile to go down the road to grab this hay. Stacked it as high as we could!|
I sassed him back and said, “I don’t like being hot.” He shrugged and drove off with his tractor. I was accused of being unable to count to thirty-eight right after being accused of being unable to count to fifty (I did manage to graduate from college after all), was ridiculed for not stacking hay the way a boy who couldn’t add ten and eleven thought it should be done and was told my baby was spoiled because I picked her up when she cried for me from a woman who wondered aloud why her adult daughter never came by anymore.
|We traded babysitting with our neighbors in exchange for loading/unloading hay for their horses too.|
I don’t take much offense from these strangers though. Their derision arises more from their need to feel like they’re important since their job is little more than glorified lawn mowing.
|Another winter’s worth of hay is taken care of!|
As simple as their job is, they’re essential. I’ll take a little mocking for some inexpensive hay any day.