July 4, 1991 - Old-Time Haying on a Hot June DayCIO The Suffolk Times • July 4, 1991
Old -Time Haying on a Hot June Day
By Paul Stoutenburah
We have a small pasture that needs
cutting every once in a while and seeing
that hay is the staple for our cows, I
thought it was about time I got to it.
It's one of those things you know has
to be done but the hassle of getting out
all of the equipment and the work in-
volved hardly make the effort worth-
while. Nevertheless, the old sickle -bar
cutter was dragged out and attached to
the tractor. It's funny how you have to
relearn how things go. There was one
piece that took me a full half -hour to
figure out just how it should fit.
Cutting became the easiest part of
haying when machines took over the
back - breaking job of the hand scythe.
Yet, that scythe put in the hands of a
skillful farmer was an efficient means of
cutting the tall grasses. Like most hay-
making machinery, mine was noisy and
as it clattered and mowed through the
tall pasture, birds flew up and rabbits
scurried. They had had this place all to
themselves up to now. As the morning
wore on less and less of their home turf
was left standing. Finally that last
small circle of greenery was cut and
from it a tiny rabbit ran, confused to
find himself alone in a sea of openness.
Now that the grasses were mowed
they would have to be tethered or fluffed
up so air could get around them and cure
them properly. I had an old horse -drawn
machine up back but it hadn't been run
for 20 years or more and not having
room for it undercover I'd left it rusting
out in the lot. I went up and looked it
over.
EOZN
Focus,on
Mature
To anyone else's eyes it was nothing
but a tangle of old vines, rusted springs,
arms, levers, gears, all jumbled into
one. The only things that made any
sense were the large, rusty steel wheels
that gave it some measure of unity. I
got the little Cub tractor out and tied a
piece of line to it and pulled it out of its
hiding. I looked it over and figured with
a little loving care I could probably get
it going.
After pulling off the vines my hopes
rose because all the necessary parts were
there, with the exception of the hitch. I
got out an oil can, which had to be
filled twice, and with a lot of rocking
back and forth and some friendly persua-
sion the ancient contraption actually
moved. I made a hitch out of an old 2x6
and was off to the hay field to tether my
hay.
Well, if you thought the cutter made
a lot of noise, you should have heard
this old relic chatter. Did it work? Like
some great giant spider. Its fingers
tossed the hay up into a maze of tufted,
confused clumps of grass. Looking over
the field as I worked my way around it,
it reminded me of someone's wet hair
being dried with a towel just after a
shower. The hay dried perfectly.
All went well the next day for the
weather was super -dry and the wind was
out of the north. It was good my hay
was only in this one small field for the
SF
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a real Jul y 4th BLAST!!
1,S CI
MARINE CENTER
Main Road 765 -3131 Southold
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
MAKING HAY —Even though the sun is blazing hot the weather is
ideal for making hay. Here, even the dog takes time out to cool off.
tedious job now came of raking it up in
windrows, picking it up and then piling
it on my truck. This would then be
transported to a central location where
I'd pile it in a huge mound. Barbara
even felt sorry for me and came out to
help.
My, it was hot! I had hay and chaff in
every crack and crevice of my body. My
shoes carried their share of seeds and the
inside of my truck looked much like the
field I was working. But how the birds
love the open field now. They walk
over it picking up bugs and insects that
had long evaded them in the tall grasses.
Bobwhite Stay Hidden
We are fortunate to have Bobwhite or
quail around but we seldom see them.
Their calls are almost always heard but
they have that uncanny ability to stay
hidden no matter how hard you look for
them — that is, except for now, when
the mowed field drew them along with
the other birds for the gleaning feast.
Now I can see them when I go out to
work as they fly away across the field.
How I love to see and hear those
stubby, fast little flyers. Some folks are
fortunate enough to have them come to
their yards for bird seed. They are a
handsome little bird, fast on their feet
and fast on the wing and with more and
more farms being left fallow the quail
seem to be increasing.
My plan was to rake the hay in one
huge pile and let the animals munch on
it during the winter months. In the
olden days farmers did this and were
skilled in piling their hay so that the
rain wouldn't get to it and spoil all their
efforts. I imagine it was like the laying
of thatch on our forefathers' roofs,
which I'm told became quite waterproof.
Not having that skill I had to cover my
hay pile with a huge, blue tarpaulin that
a good friend gave me. It took a bit of
doing but as the rope came into play
and the loose ends were tied down, my
haystack soon took on the appearance of
an Arabian tent in some far-off land. To
say the least, I was proud of my efforts
and went back to the house_ to wash up
for supper.
The Cow Was Not Pleased
As the sun set I walked out into the
bare, mowed field and started to rake up
some leftovers I thought would be good
to use as bedding. As I worked, our big
old cow strolled into the .pasture.
Things had changed in her mind and it
wasn't to her liking. She walked over to
my now beautifully tied -up and tucked -
in haystack with its blue cover and she
sniffed and snorted. Then, without warn-
ing, she went into what I can only call
cow rage. She bucked and kicked up her
heels. She rubbed and butted the sides of
my nicely tied lines. She was demolish-
ing my two days of labor. I ran toward
her waving my arms and rake and
shooed her away. Was that her
gratitude?
My only recourse was to drive some
metal stakes around the now battered
haystack and wind some old barbed wire
around them. This seemed to do the
trick, but then only time will tell.
Perhaps next year I'll give up my anti-
quated equipment. It deserves to be re-
tired. I'll call John Tuthill in and have
him cut, pile and bale the hay while I
watch, like most people, letting some-
one with better equipment and knowl-
edge than I do the haying. Haying is an
experience I'll never forget but age
creeps up on all of us and I think that's
the last time I'll cut hay.
Making a SPLASH
A group called SPLASH (Special
People Learning At Swim Hour) for
physically challenged children of-
fers hydrotherapy in a heated indoor
pool at the Village Commons Health
and Racquet Club, Main Road.
For details call Ann Ekster at 734-
5901 or the club at 734 -7007.