tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post554153984408586873..comments2024-01-12T11:26:35.176-05:00Comments on Working Stiffs: Making Hay While the Sun ShinesWorking Stiffshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03270595837074553752noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-53154759086943988462007-05-30T13:59:00.000-04:002007-05-30T13:59:00.000-04:00I grew up riding horses but was deathly allergic t...I grew up riding horses but was deathly allergic to the hay. It might be why I finally gave up riding! And I wasn't much fun on those hay rides either. Ahhhchooo.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-42896913960587950262007-05-30T11:13:00.001-04:002007-05-30T11:13:00.001-04:00My happiest summer on the farm was the year Jake (...My happiest summer on the farm was the year Jake (who "farmed" our land--we didn't do any of the planting ourselves but we helped with the harvesting) switched from hay to corn. I concur, tossing around those bales of hay was exceedingly hard work, esp. for a pudgy preteen. But the reward for helping out was worth it: stripping off shirt and shorts and skinny-dipping in the creek--all the while ignoring Mom yelling from the house 75 yards away, "Get some clothes on!" Pure bliss.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-33371404404820382282007-05-30T11:13:00.000-04:002007-05-30T11:13:00.000-04:00Kristine,No. Sorry.Kristine,<BR/><BR/>No. <BR/><BR/>Sorry.Annettehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02755947919433555176noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-89329660408558418932007-05-30T10:57:00.000-04:002007-05-30T10:57:00.000-04:00I'm also a city girl, so I have no experience work...I'm also a city girl, so I have no experience working in the field. Does yard work count?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-39804328121513361642007-05-30T07:26:00.000-04:002007-05-30T07:26:00.000-04:00I'm a city girl. The most I had to do in the summe...I'm a city girl. The most I had to do in the summer was mow the grass in our tiny yard with a hand mower!Joyce Tremelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00498392016497131719noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-10483491152075230112007-05-30T07:07:00.001-04:002007-05-30T07:07:00.001-04:00I have never, never worked as hard as I did helpin...I have never, never worked as hard as I did helping to bale hay. Oh, the sweat!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-19877549216065493792007-05-30T07:07:00.000-04:002007-05-30T07:07:00.000-04:00Annette, talk about a flashback. As a person who s...Annette, talk about a flashback. As a person who spent EVERY summer of her childhood baling hay, I can totally relate. I remember my sister and I rolling bales into rows for easier pick-up when we were too little to lift them. And much later, I learned to drive in the hayfield -- behind the wheel of a one-ton flatbed Ford with a stick-shift, a fully loaded haywagon on the back, and my father telling me if I dumped the load of hay I'd have to reload it all by myself, but if I stalled the truck again, he was going to kick my butt. No pressure there! File these memories under "Why I never wanted to live on a farm as an adult". But you're right, "Make hay while the sun shines," is great advice to live by!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-24371193776612226792007-05-30T06:51:00.000-04:002007-05-30T06:51:00.000-04:00Oh, there's lots of good stuff I didn't mention. A...Oh, there's lots of good stuff I didn't mention. Another neighbor of ours fell while working in the hay field and the wagon ran over him. He lived to tell about it. <BR/><BR/>Ray was driving the tractor one time while I was waaaayyyy up high on the hay wagon. He was goofing around and accidently hit the throttle. I had to claw and scramble to keep from falling off. <BR/><BR/>He lived to tell about it, too. Barely.Annettehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02755947919433555176noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33226151.post-27176250253938807062007-05-30T06:38:00.000-04:002007-05-30T06:38:00.000-04:00When I had a horse in high school, we bought the h...When I had a horse in high school, we bought the hay but my Dad and I and the barn's owner, Mr. Smith, all had to load it from the truck into the loft. As a 16-year-old, it was a great physical toner, but my Dad ended up with tennis elbow, not from playing tennis, but from moving hay.<BR/><BR/>You didn't mention the part about the sweat running down into your eyes and the prickly little hay pieces sticking to your arms and inevitably working their way down the back of your shirt.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com