Haying Stories Keep stacking up.

Across the Fence #557


This is haying season and my stories about haying, haymows, and stacking bales, brought some great memories from “Across the Fence “ readers that I thought you would enjoy hearing about. 

Lets start with the empty haymow before the new hay crop was harvested. My friend, David Giffey wrote, “We built a new barn in the early 1950s, long before we had indoor plumbing in the house. Barns were always considered more important on small family farms because barns were our source of income.

When the new barn was built, my older brothers put up a basketball backboard at one end. I enjoyed playing basketball, and I assumed the barn was built for basketball. Yes, we'd fill the hayloft every summer with baled hay. But we'd start to feed the hay in the fall from the end underneath the basketball hoop. Some of your readers might recall that there were serious basketball games - even leagues - played in haylofts around Central and Northern Wisconsin in the early and mid 19th Century. 

In our barn, we played basketball wearing mittens and ear flaps because it was cold up there. Sometimes the leather ball was frozen, so dribbling was a challenge. But we played nonetheless.

I'm always happy when I see kids playing basketball on playgrounds in cities or villages. And I hope some of them still get to work on their moves in the hayloft of old barns.”

My brothers, David and Arden remember that they played basketball in the haymow of Danny and Ila Olson’s barn. I don’t remember playing there. I think I had left the farm and headed for school in Madison by the time they and Rod Olson were playing basketball in the haymow. We had a basketball hoop on the side of the old log house, but it was always a challenge dribbling on the uneven lawn with a ball that was usually under-inflated. I guess we should have put the hoop in the haymow.

Rainy days were special in an empty haymow, when you couldn’t work outside. I remember taking a paperback book up in the haymow on a rainy day, laying back in a soft pile of sweet-smelling alfalfa and clover, and listening to the rain beating on the roof and tin cupola while I got lost in the adventures of a good book. There was something special about reading in the solitude of the haymow on a rainy day. I hope other kids had that experience too. Those are some wonderful memories. 

My friend, author Jerry Apps, has some great rainy day haymow stories too. Check out this blog story: http://jerryapps.blogspot.com/2015/06/rainy-day-in-june.html

I also heard from people who remembered stacking hay.  My cousin Eric Olson, remembers when he was 15 they baled for 16 hours straight– a 1000 bales.  His Dad had Uncle Maynard build heavy-duty wagons that could hold 150 bales. “I lifted every bale 3 to 4 times, loading and unloading, so at 40 to 50 pounds each, that was at least 60 tons. No wonder 47 years later, I have back problems.”

My friend, John Cotter wrote, “One of the things I remember about baling hay is the way the wagon would move back and forth as each bale was made. A ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk sound was made by the baler. As the pistons moved back to pack the hay, the wagon would stop a little and then go forward. You were swaying on the wagon all the way down the field. You had to time your steps to walk the bale back to where the stack was so you wouldn’t slip or drop the bale. I also remember as the wagon filled, it got more difficult to stack the last row. You had to reach down standing on wobbly bales and lift the bale to put it in place. We made sure the load was full before the next wagon was attached.

Erik and Amy in the haymow by the elevator.

Another memory I have is after the load was put in the mow, the fastest way to get down to the outside and some relief from the heat of the haymow, was to slide down the elevator. You had to make sure to keep your butt up so you wouldn’t catch it on the elevator cleats. At least that is what we called them, but that is what held the bales in place as they went up to the mow.”

I remember exiting the haymow by sliding down the elevator just like John did. Then we made a direct line to the windmill and a cold drink of water.

John also had memories about how we never thought about germs. “There was a metal cup on the pump that hung outside all the time. Never washed, that I remember. We would start the pump and each take a turn getting a drink. Sure couldn’t do that today. We also would take water to the field in a glass gallon jug that was wrapped in burlap to keep it cooler. Not cold, just cooler.”

John said, “Your stories really invoke some good memories, even if they were hard work. It never killed us, which is another story. 

How do little boys become big boys? Sounds like that’s a story for another day too.

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