The Dark Winter Haymow

Across the Fence #375

A haymow at night can be a frightening place, especially to young, fertile imaginations that have grown up on stories of Trolls, Nisse, Boogeymen, and Tramps.

Summer was never a problem because the large haymow was empty and the cows had been let out to feast on fresh pastures, so we didn’t need to feed hay to them when we let them in for milking morning and night. There was no place for those scary creatures to hide in an empty haymow.

Winter was a different story. During the summer, we had been filling the haymow and when it was full, bales would be stacked nearly up to the cupola at the top of the barn. There was just enough room left at the top to walk around and have access to the open hay chutes to throw the bales down. It seems like it was always dark when we crawled up the handmade wooden ladder on the outside of the barn and entered the small door into the dark haymow. We carried a small flashlight because we didn’t have any lights in the haymow. Going into a haymow at night is like entering a cellar without turning on the light. It’s so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face. It’s a perfect place for creatures of the night to hide and wait for unsuspecting victims to come along.

Is it any wonder that we hated to climb up in the haymow and throw down hay during the evening milking? We much preferred to crawl up in the silo and throw down silage. At least you didn’t have to worry about some horrible creature attacking you. There was no place for them to hide in the silo, even though it was dark and cold in there too; although raccoons have been known to seek shelter in silos.

During the summer when we were stacking bales in the haymow, we built a vertical chute for the two openings in the floor where we threw the hay down. We also built a chute that went almost straight up from the door opening. We piled the bales to form small steps so we had a way to climb to the top of the piled hay. In the dark, that narrow chute only added to the adventure.

Cats liked to make their homes in holes or crevices in the hay. It was a warm place to seek shelter on cold, winter nights. A cat suddenly springing to life and seeking a safer hiding place could make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. Shining the flashlight around in search of creatures waiting to attack you, only added to your uneasiness as the light created scary shadows in every corner of the barn.

My grandmother told stories of the Nisse that lived in barns in Norway. They could be very mischievous if you didn’t feed them rommegrot at Christmas. If any of them had stowed away on ships coming to America from Norway, we thought they could be living in our barn. We had never left a bowl of rommegrot for them. They would be very hungry and irritated after all that time. The Boogeyman that lived in dark places was also one of her stories. What better place than a haymow on a cold winter night. Even they needed a place to stay warm. Grandma Inga had a way of telling a story that made the little creatures come to life.

As we got older we knew those creatures were just found in stories, or so we hoped. But, what if a tramp, or a wild animal, had crawled up in the haymow to seek shelter out of the snow and cold wind? Dad used to tell about finding tramps sleeping in the hay of their barn near the railroad tracks when he was young. But that was when many men road the rails during the Great Depression. I think we could pretty much eliminate tramps when I was young.

That still left the possibility of some sort of animal making its home in our haymow. Raccoons could climb ladders. I knew skunks hibernated and I didn’t think they could climb a ladder, but I knew I never wanted to come face to tail with one.

All those images of possible creatures lurking in the haymow, certainly added to the stress of every trip up that ladder. It’s hard to hold a flashlight while lugging heavy hay bales to the chute and tossing them down. One time the flashlight followed a bale down the chute. I made as hasty an exit as I could, as I felt my way over the bales in the almost total darkness. I quickly exited the door before some creature could reach out and drag me back into the haymow. Luckily, the flashlight landed on the pile of hay and didn’t bust. Then it was back up the ladder and into the darkness again, to complete my interrupted job. It was always better when David and I ventured into the haymow together.

That old barn is gone now, along with the creatures of the night that may, or may not, have lived in the haymow. I never ran into any of them. They must have been real good at hiding. I’m just glad my days of climbing into a dark winter haymow are in the past.

*