Monday, June 16, 2025
Time: 7:32 PM
Song: Black
Artist: Pearl Jam
Mode of Consumption: Listening to the radio while completing bookwork for church.
Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/5Xak5fmy089t0FYmh3VJiY?si=7402d137e7a04aeb
We made hay today. Forty-seven bales to be exact. That’s less than half of what we usually get off our hayfield on the first cutting of the season.
“It’s been like that everywhere,” Ken said. Ken brought his tractor and baler this afternoon. Jodi and I managed on the rack, stacking the bales four high, two columns parallel to the standard, and one in the middle perpendicular.
“A husband and wife making hay together, that’s just asking for trouble,” Ken joked.
“It’s worked out so far,” Jodi answered.
“It’s not our first rodeo,” I added.
There are fewer bales this season because we had a dry fall, followed by a dry winter, followed by a dry spring. Just not great conditions for growing grass and alfalfa.
It’s hard not to feel a little let down. The hay field was one of the domains of Jodi’s father, Lee. This is the second season that we’ve managed the field since his passing.
It was the first where we had our own tractor (also formerly Lee’s), and Jodi learned how to mow the hay and to rake it.
I prefer to be the guy on the rack, although my duties have increased. I pulled the elevator over to the barn to unload, and then lined up the rack next to it. Then put all the equipment away afterward.
I’m alone in the mow now, back in the old days, Lee would have started on the rack with Jodi and then moved up to the mow with me. It was an event. Usually, Jodi’s Aunt Betty would be around to help where she could, and her mom, Kathy, would stop by near the end with a box of pizza.
After Ken left, it was just Jodi and me. I drank a beer, something Lee liked to do after finishing.
We warmed up some leftover tacos, cleaned up the dishes and went about our evening.
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