Posted By FarmerJ on September 26, 2009

Last Sunday was a busy day here at the Farmstead.  Thursday prior, Darling Husbie had a little fun with Winston the Windrower.  Winston made his first cut, but the fourth and final cut of the season, in the main alfalfa field.  He performed flawlessly.

Husbie had been using Winston to cut the small alfalfa pasture in the back forty, but we’ve been share cropping the main field with a nearby neighbor ~ until this cut.  We decided to do this cut ourselves and make small square bales rather than the large round bales our neighbor makes.

So, the adventure begins.  To start things off, Winston needed to be refueled.  Challenge #1.  Winston has been converted to run on propane.  With a 14′ span, Winston is not something you just load on the car hauler and take him into town to the local propane filling station.  However, the farm co-op won’t deliver less than 200 gallons of propane to your home.  Solution #1.  Husbie disconnected the 25-gallon tank from Winston and used Tym and the loader [remind me to introduce you to Tym a little later!] to get the tank into the bed of the truck.  Off to town he went, and after two attempts to find someone capable of filling more than a typical grill propane bottle, Husbie returned with a full tank of fuel.  Tym flexed his hydraulic muscles, I coerced the tank’s position with a strap, and Husbie stabbed that thing right on the bolts.  A few turns with the wrench and Winston was raring to go!

A minor adjustment of the swather teeth and a couple of hours is all it took for Husbie and Winston to get the task done.  Although the windrows were quite a bit smaller than the previous cuts, it was still a good healthy cut ~ and it was all ours this time since we weren’t share cropping this time.

We were blessed with three rain-free days, with rain in the forecast for Sunday night.  So, our plans were made for us ~ Sunday was baling day.  And, the real adventure begins.

Since the windrows were somewhat small, Darling Husbie wanted to rake two rows into one before baling them.  Actually, Husbie wanted me to rake the rows while he followed with the baler in order to save time.  After all, we were racing against the rain.  Challenge #2.  Sampson, the Ford 8N on which I was to pull the rake, needed fuel.  See a pattern here?  Solution #2.  Husbie sent wife to the local service station with the 5-gallon fuel cans to fill up while he continued to get the rake adjusted on the back of Sampson.  No problem; easy solution.

Challenge #3.  While I was away getting fuel, Husbie had made a couple of test runs in order to get the rake adjusted just so.  In the process, the throttle on Sampson broke.  He would go, but not fast enough to get the job done ~ you have to have at least a little speed for the rake wheels to spin fast enough to toss the alfalfa.  Well, all of Sampson’s spare parts, nuts and bolts perished in the shop fire.  Solution #3.  Husbie ‘borrowed’ a bolt off of something else ~ I don’t really know what ~ and rigged the throttle cable so that it worked again.  I’ve always said my Darling Husbie is a Master Fix-It Man!

Having filled Sampson’s tank full of fuel and the throttle fixed, Husbie was now ready to give me a demonstration of how I was supposed to rake one row, then the second row, and then the second row once again in order to get it all into one nice big row for the baler.  Pass one.  Are you watching?  Yes, Lovie, I’m watching very diligently.  Pass two.  Do you see where I’ve got the front tire lined up with the second windrow?  Yes, Lovie, I see where you’ve got Sampson positioned in between the rows.  Now pay attention, as the third pass is the most important so that everything gets lined up just right.  I’m paying close attention, Lovie.  Challenge #4.  Three-quarters of the way down the windrow, Sampson became extremely lopsided.  Um, his left rear wheel fell off!  There sat my adorable, precious, frustrated Husbie, on his lopsided tractor.  Now, a normal man would have thrown his hands up and gone inside to watch the Nascar race that had started an hour ago.  But not my Darling Husbie.  Solution #4.  Husbie laughs it off.  He claims there was nothing left to do at this point in the game.   Perhaps the stars ~ or the windrows ~ weren’t lined up right that day.  I don’t know.  I just know that my beloved husband got his patience lessons from Job!

By now, Mr. S was here with his trailer.  He planned to drive behind Husbie and load the bales onto his trailer as they came out of the baler.  So, Husbie decided the best thing to do was just run the baler down the small windrows ~ just get this party started!

Things were now going well.  Since I didn’t need to couldn’t run Sampson with the rake, I decided to get some seat time on Kitty [I haven't introduced you to Kitty yet, either, have I?].  Husbie was operating Tym with the baler; Mr. S had his young daughter maneuvering the truck and trailer up and down the field while he was walking alongside it hurling and stacking bales; and I was getting some of the lawn mowed.

Yes, indeed, things were now moving along.  You could hear the rhythmic chunk, chunk, chunk of the baler and Mr. S hollering “Go!” to his daughter signaling he had stacked that bale and was ready to go to the next.  Progress…until Challenge #5 surfaced.  The baling wire broke on the baler, lodging a small piece of wire in a precarious place.  Spotting the latest…um…challenge Husbie was overcoming, I pulled Kitty up to the house and fetched the poor man some water.  Mostly to help quench his powerful thirst, but maybe a little to help cool any temper that was starting to rise.  Solution #5.  Husbie drank the water I’d brought to him, requested more water, mustered up some more of those amazing patience and pulled and pried that pesky wire from the precarious place in which it had positioned itself.  By the time I was on my way back to the alfalfa field with water cooler in hand, I once again heard that rhythmic chunk, chunk, chunk.  That was such perty music to my ears!  Heehee!  How blessed am I to be married to such a patient, capable Master Fix-It Man?!

We’ll fast forward a tiny bit.  Mr. S had loaded his trailer and had left.  Husbie’s pangs of hunger had turned into punches, so we took a quick break to suppress those.  The sun was now setting and there were 185 bales to get off the field before the rain came.  Oy!

Mr. G was here collecting firewood from the front slough while all the adventures were unfolding.  I think he took pity on Husbie when I told him we had to get all the bales in yet that night, because Mr. G was gracious enough to help throw a few bales before going home.

So, I maneuvered Tym and the loader with Mr. G’s youngest daughter in the cab with me, while Husbie, Dominic and Mr. G heaved the bales.  Ever so slowly, ever so gently I would get Tym across the field, across the back slough and to the barn doors ~ all the while the stack of 15 bales teetered back and forth.  Only a couple of times did the bales actually totter and the guys had to restack them.

With a minute and a half left before the sky turned completely dark, Mr. G left.  We thanked him profusely for his help and reluctantly waved bye-bye.  There were still over 100 bales on the field.

Fast forward a tiny bit more.  Tym’s work lights are shining as far as possible but not nearly enough into the pitch darkness.  Husbie and Dominic are heaving bale after bale, each one getting heavier than the previous.  I’m trying to find Tym’s happy gear so that he can move with a purpose across the field without lurching the bales off the loader; swatting the gazillion gnats and moths that have become infatuated with the work light; and we’re all squinting into the darkness praying that ‘this’ bale is the last bale.

Finally, at 10:00 pm, Husbie and Dominic had offloaded the last bale into the barn and we could call it a day.  My precious, exhausted men plopped themselves into the carry-all basket on the back of Tym and I headed toward the house…

…but not before making a pass by poor Sampson, who was still lopsided and lonely at the south end of the field.  Sorry, Sampson.  You’ll have to sleep outside tonight.

Those were the adventures of the Final Cut of the season here at the Farmstead ~ so many challenges that could have easily been the ‘final straw’…but not for my Darling Husbie.

The clock struck 10:30 pm; Husbie finally sat with a bowl of hearty homemade chili and his Nascar race on the big screen.  He was tired, but content; I was blessed…and the rain came.  ♥

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