The first cutting usually is rather bumpy (literally as well as figuratively), as the fields grow at different rates, machinery seems to need to work out kinks after resting for the winter, and our tolerance for the heat has not developed. The growth rate for the fields is varied, resembling a bad hair cut growing out. As the ground has compacted the growth is slower, where the gophers have tunneled the aerated soil produces a long-bladed, dense, green patch. As a result the mower has an inconsistent feed of grass to cut, sometimes sparse, sometimes choking. We were fortunate this first cutting that the mower didn't choke on wads of hay, locking up, and overheating. When this does happen, the PTO has to be shut down immediately, and the task of clawing through the grass to free up the cutting blades is required. I have to admit when this has happened in the past, it was early morning and lying on my back under the mower (turned off), the smell of the freshly cut grass was so fragrant, I actually took a moment to enjoy the smell. Of course by the end my fingers were cramped and the moment of enjoyment was a fleeting memory. But no problems with that this time. Donald and I rode together on this part of the process and it went smoothly.
Raking requires the mower to be removed from the tractor and the next implement attached. Sometimes we just use the little red tractor with the open cab for this, but the back hoe was still attached and we will be needing it soon for other projects. It is not the easiest implement to remove nor re-attach. So the big John Deere pulled the rake and all went well. The trick is to figure out which way the rake throws the wind row and make sure there is enough room for the tractor pulling the baler to make it through for the next step of the process.
Dust devils are a very irritating phenomenon in the desert when you have light, airy hay neatly arranged in wind rows on a field. For our first cutting, I arrived with the tractor towing the baler all ready to bale the hay, when I discovered that a devil had driven its way across the field dragging my beautiful rows with it! Progress was thwarted! I went back to get the gator with a pitch fork to re-assemble the rows for baling. Now this is 10 acres of hay. The tractors were claimed by other implements, so re-raking didn't seem like the solution. Needless to say after the first 5 acres, I squinted through my sweat-filled eyes at the pick-up truck and decided it was going to work, pulling the rake. The devils had reeked havoc and re-raking was a necessity. As I fired up the truck the low fuel light lit up for me. Our teenage daughter, in attempts to make it home by curfew, had not filled up the truck and left it empty for me to discover. My nice morning of baling was delayed. But once the truck was fueled up and the rake was on, progress began again.
The day was hot by the time the baler was chugging away, but the air conditioned cab kept me going. The baling went smoothly with only one broken bale. Sometimes when the strings transfers to the next spool, there is a glitch in the first tie or two and the bale drops out the back of the baler and explodes. I leave them till the end, re-bale them, and drop them crosswise on the field so that they don't go to hay clients. The re-baling re-cuts the grass and the flakes of the bale don't hold together well. I take them for our animals and open them in a hay cart, so that they are contained and feed from it. Overall the baling went well. The way I proceed with each part of the process is that if something goes wrong and I am not able to muscle through, shake/jiggle or kick something to work, then I quit until Donald comes home and fixes it. Normally, that keeps me sane. However, Donald has been sick the last couple of weeks and the pressure was on to get it all done, so that he didn't have to fix anything.
The final portion of the job; picking up all the bales and stacking them. Now I have developed a rather refined stacking technique of which I am rather proud. I enjoy showing the stacks to Donald when he comes home and he expresses his relief that he didn't have to do it by hand. Simple pleasures. The bale wagon picks up the bales as you drive by, drags them into a rack, tosses them up on a table and continues until the table is full. The table then lifts up vertically and tips the layer slightly past vertical, leaning against some fingers. This continues for each layer, with a slight modification in the arrangement on the tie tiers, until the stack is loaded. I then back the wagon into the hay barn and tip the whole stack to a vertical position on the ground and push away to leave it standing. During this pushing, I chant to the stack "stay up, stay up." And if it does the process continues, leaning one stack against the next. It is very satisfying.
Oh but not this time. The first layer loaded and lifted, and dropped one bale off the uppermost corner. I shut everything down and proceeded to crawl up on the table and hoist the bale up to my thighs, pressing against the layer of bales still in place. My technique, because I lack the upper body strength to throw bales at will, is to roll the bale up overhead and finally push it onto the open space above. I discovered while the bale was overhead why it had been rejected. It was what we refer to as a "banana bale." One string ties tighter on one side of the bale than the other and the bale has the inclination to bow like a banana. As I realized this, I was able to lower it and remove it from the wagon for a later pick up for our use. I tricked the wagon into picking up one more bale and called the girls for help. Remember these are teenage girls that are not predisposed to farming activities. Begrudgingly they arrived. I gave them instructions on how we would lift, roll and press the bale up to the top. I forgot Emma wasn't as tall as Erin and I, until the bale was at an angle pointing down towards Emma, with Erin screaming, "push Emma!" And Emma screaming, "I can't reach that high!" Erin and I scrambled into new positions and strong-armed the blasted bale into position. We were covered in hay, spitting it from our mouths. But I was then able to move forward, and the girls zipped back to the house before more was asked of them.
I should have known things were not going to go well from there. The wagon started pulled stunts like leaving the table up and then after pushing and shoving on my part, lowered itself at an excrutiatingly slow pace, almost in spite of me. The rail that tosses the bales to the table would stay up and finally a bale was stuck in the shoot. I wrestled with that bale and pulled and tried to push it back where it came from, until I decided that my attempts to save Donald from any additonal labor were defeated. I took my gloves and left the tractor in the field with the bale wagon choking on the bale, and dragged myself back to the ranch house.
As it turned out Donald had to hand load all the bales into the trailer. He also had to fix the bale wagon. Which was the bale wagon's fault because it didn't put something back where it belonged before I shoved another bale in its throat. It better get its act together before the next cutting or I'm not sure what I'll do to it.
I am hopeful that the kinks are worked out, and I am more tolerant of the heat if I do have to assist the machinery in its part of the job. The first cutting of the season was anti-climactic because of the mechanical difficulties. But it is done and the irrigation waters are flowing as I peck.
