Cartwheels of Joy

So far, this has been a difficult year to get hay up.  The fields grew really well, and quite a few were actually ready to cut before Memorial Day.  Some fields did get cut, and baled, that weekend.  Not mine, since we have not spent the large amounts of money it takes to purchase haying equipment (tractor of large enough horse power, mower/cutter, rake/tedder and a baler, plus wagons.)  We are third on the list of the family that does custom cutting and baling in the area.

Their own field was done first, in late May.  Right after that, the weather was rainy.  Next swath of dry weather, they did their next door neighbors field.  Then the weather was uncooperative--not that it rained all the time, but there was enough rain in the forecast (most of which didn't actually show up)-- that about three weeks of June went by with no one but the cattle folks making hay.  Horse hay doesn't get cut unless there are three good dry weather days forecast in a row.

Waiting. . . hay getting riper by the day

Of course those three good dry weather days for my turn came along with a heat wave.  I got a call on a Thursday morning, while I happened to be riding The California Horse.  As soon as I was done riding, and saw that I had missed a call from my hay people, I listened to the message they had left. The voicemail that went something like this:  "The weather looks good, would you like us to cut your hay this morning?"

I immediately called them back, getting their voicemail.  I left a message that, paraphrased, said "I would do cartwheels of joy" if they could cut my hay that day.

When I got home from work at lunch time, a good portion of my hay field was cut, and their tractor and mower were going round and round shearing the rest.  By the time I'd finished my lunch, the entire field had been cut.  Hooray!  Now to wait two days for the hay to dry. . .

Hay finally cut!

Get ready to sweat!

Meanwhile, that heat wave rolled in.  While the media was crying "Heat index of 105 degrees!  Don't go outside!  Stay indoors with air conditioning, and if you don't have air conditioning, go somewhere that does!  Danger!  Danger!", DH and I were planning to put hay into our barn. Because hay doesn't wait.

stacks in the loft

(picture taken at first water break)

Despite advertising my hay for almost half the going rate out of the field, I had only one taker who wanted to come out of their air conditioning to load bales right off the wagon and take them home.  So, while the media was doom-and-glooming, we were doing what farmers have done for centuries:  making hay while the sun shone. DH & I put almost 350 bales of hay into the barn during a time when most people wouldn't even open the door on their air conditioned homes to step outside.

And honestly, it wasn't that terrible.  We took breaks, we drank lots of water, we wore the lightest weight clothing we could that would still protect our skin from the rough prickliness of the bales.  Cold showers at the end of the day were heavenly treats.

I did get called out on my voicemail message though.  Mr. Hay Cutter said he wanted to see those cartwheels I'd talked about.  Hoping for the best (since I haven't tried a cartwheel in quite a few years and was incapable to completing it the last time I'd tried one,) I chose a nice level looking spot in the hay field and went for it.  I was more afraid of busting a wrist than making a fool of myself, and I can't tell you how happy I felt when my second hand hit the ground and my arm didn't buckle.  It wasn't perfect form, but I did do an actual, complete cartwheel, landing with both feet together and no bobbling, just like a gymnast!  I may have been stinky and sweaty, with hay chaff stuck to every exposed piece of skin and a face red from the heat, but I felt beautiful in that moment.  (Thanks, California Horse, for the awesome core strength I've built in the past year riding you.)

However, next time I get a call asking if I'd like my hay mowed, I think I'll refrain from mentioning cartwheels.  I'll just stay I'd be very happy to have my hay cut.  :0)

Empty field, ready to grow again.