As one drives across this land in the upper midwest states, it isn't unusual to see a steel-wheeled, horse drawn sickle bar hay mower in farm front yards. Four and one-half, five, and six feet were common sickle bar lengths with five feet the most common. At the end of the bar was a special board, set at an angle with a round stick attached for the sole purpose of creating a distinct separation between the newly cut swath, and the standing hay. This separation was essential for two reasons. On the next round with the mower, the sickle bar didn't get clogged with hay cut on the prior round, and to form separation to enable raking into windrows. Arranging hay into windrows set the stage for pickup of the hay by hay loading equipment. The sounds and smells of a team of horses drawing that mower along to cut fine alfalfa hay still hang in my mind as a pleasant ones -- peaceful too.
       To form windrows, farmers used a special machine called a side delivery rake. This rake was a system of tumbling tines to gently kick and roll the hay into a neat, straight row. With a five-foot sickle bar cut, it was customary to rake two of the five-foot swaths into a single windrow. Hay was usually windrowed with some 30 - 35% of its original moisture content so as to protect the delicate, green leaves from being lost, and from being bleached by the sun. Drying continued in the windrow.
       Once in a great while we would become victim to "hay devils" which were sort of like mini-tornadoes that would pick up raked hay, carry it for a spell, then drop it here and there. Those occasions just made life more complicated; you worked the other hay, and then use the side delivery rake, or the dump rake to re-gather the scattered hay.

      Once dry enough to store in the barn, the windrowed hay was gathered onto a hayrack using a hay loader pulled behind the wagon, directly over the windrow; the wagon and loader drawn by a team of horses straddling the windrow of hay. As the fresh, loose hay was shuttled up onto the wagon by the loader, Dad would use a three-tined pitch fork to "build up" the load, first at one end of the wagon and then at the other, back and forth until no more could be loaded. At this point, the loader was unhooked from the wagon, and the load taken to the barn for unloading.
         As one can picture, this method of harvesting hay is manual labor indeed, there was no shortage of other forms of grief -- even beyond the breakdowns of harness parts of machinery. I recall once where, overnight, a swarm of yellow jackets invaded a windrow of hay. Dad found their fury the next day as the hay loader brought up "hay with bees!" Dad was eaten up. He could hardly see for two days! But still, there was no time for rest. Down hay had to be worked!
       The relationship between the barn's hayloft and those wagon loads of hay merits a bit of discussion here. Our barn was built on a hillside. As a matter of fact, every building on the place was on the side of a massive hill. Maybe that's the reason I walk with a limp to this day for no apparent reason! At any rate, the hayloft had five sections running the length of the barn; two on each end or side, and the center section. We would drive the team pulling the wagon load of hay up the gentle ramp, into the center section for unloading.
        Once in the barn, the wagon was blocked, and one of the two horses was taken to be used to pull the hay rope. Hay was taken from the wagon to the hayloft by a system using a long, strong hay rope, a smaller trip rope to release hay from the hay fork, a trolley track w/trolley running the barn's length, and a special hay fork to grasp a huge amount of loose hay from the hayrack. Two types of hay forks were commonly used -- one a harpoon, the other a grapple fork. In the early years, Dad had only the harpoon style. It was made of two long, strong tines about three feet long, set about 20 inches apart; down through each was a sliding bar to operate a 'gripper' at the end of each tine. You would push the harpoon fork down into the loose hay all the way, then pull up the trip arms to set the grippers, one on each tine.
        At this point, the horse selected to pull the hay rope, connected to the rope by a single whipple tree, was driven or led out away from the barn a set distance between 75 and 125 feet, lifting the fork load of hay up to the trolley track; at which time the trolley was released from the center position & free to travel down the track. When the fork load of hay was over the place in the loft that the hay was to go, the trip rope was pulled, releasing the grippers and thus the hay. It would be also at this point that the person driving the horse (usually Mom) was to go no further! Dad would have placed a special marker at the point beyond which Mom was not to go. Once at that point, Mom unhooked the rope, allowing Dad to pull the hay fork back and reset it into the hay load while Mom brought the horse back for another pull.
       Many farmers didn't have barns with the "drive-in" feature. They unloaded wagon loads of hay at one end, outside of the barn. Using a two-rope system as above, fork loads of hay were taken up off the wagon to the trolley track, then along the track to the hayloft section desired where the trip rope (when pulled) dropped the hay. These barns had a fairly large door at one end, hinged at the bottom; a doorway which extended upward to the trolley track, just under the roof peak. You can recognize these barns easily because of the "extended peak" at the end of the roof, and the door below.
      Every now and then, Dad had to go into the hayloft, with his pitchfork, to move hay from the barn's centerline to the outer areas. This effort was to maximize storage and to make the hay more retrievable in the winter months. Hay making time is a dreadfully warm and muggy time of year. Mom was always concerned that Dad was pushing it too hard in that heat. Mom once placed a thermometer up in the hayloft to show Dad how dangerous it was. The glass burst! That meant temperatures were well over 120 degrees inside that barn. And so Mom would always have plenty cool water, or Dad's favorite Cool Aide drink available. I call it Cool Aide, but in those days, folks purchased extracts from the Watkins Man with which to make flavored drinks of Root Beer, Grape and Orange. More times than I can count, I recall Dad's overalls being wet enough with sweat that you could wring it out of them.
      Hay making prior to hay balers was indeed a labor intensive set of operations. And working that hard during hot, muggy weather fully drained one's energy level by day's end. But there was still the dairy herd to milk and otherwise tend too. Many is the time Dad would be in half sleep, his head against a cow, as he completed stripping operations, (hand-milking after the milking machine). When there weren't baby brothers or sisters of mine to be tended to, Mom was right there with Dad to help milk the cows. And then there was ALWAYS repairs to attend to such as a loose band on wooden wagon wheels, or harness parts to patch or re-rivet, or hayrack boards to replace -- either on one of the standards or the bed. In later years, a tire may have to be repaired. After milking time, there were still things to be done, more often than not, things that just couldn't be put off until a "rain day."
      An interesting point here; our hayrack had wooden wheels with wood spokes and steel bands, common everywhere in times before WW2, and well known also in those western movies that were so popular a few decades back. What Dad would do for loose bands; remove the wheel, position the band where it belonged, then drop the wheel into the stock tank overnight! In the morning, the wood would have swelled and the band would be "tight as Dick's hat band," as the saying went. A little grease on the axle, slip the wheels back on, then tighten the hub nut and you were set for several more days of service.
      The essence of making hay that still burns in my mind is characterized by the saying, "Make hay while the sun shines!" When you have "hay down" in the fields, there can be no rest until it is brought in where the weather can no longer hurt it. Getting your hay rained on is really a bad thing. The loss of food value is hard to judge, but severe. Ideally, if you had reliable weather forecasts and were also a little bit lucky, you could harvest your hay without rain. And if you were fortunate enough to not have hay down when it did rain, those were the days when making repairs were relaxing ones.
There were also many good times to go with the work. Any of you who has smelled the aroma coming up from a field of drying alfalfa hay knows a joyful odor. A similar aroma is sensed by those in all walks of life shortly after mowing their lawns. It is the sugar contained in the plant that brings out a smell pleasing to humans and non-carnivorous animals alike.
     I remember working with horses as a pleasant experience. Those hardworking 'plugs' were gentle animals, and you got the sense they were so grateful at feeding time. Horses just love oats and good hay. We always strived to have lighter hay (than alfalfa) for them; timothy and red clover were their favorites. And if you had hay with any mold in it, they would reject that in a heartbeat. It was as if they knew it wasn't good for them. And if one has any heart at all, you won't give a hard working horse lousy food!
     I mentioned bees earlier. I recall one occasion; we had the hay loader and wagon out by the barnyard, ready to head out for another hayfield. Dad and I were getting a drink or something. At any rate, neither of us was with the team. Then, without any reason we ever learned of, the team took off on a full gallop with wagon and loader in tow, out into the cow pasture. The loader was flipped over and badly damaged, at which time it became unhitched from the wagon. The team continued on until they wedged the wagon between two oak trees! What a mess: damage to the wagon, broken harness pieces, and a terrified team of horses! The only thing we could imagine would have brought that on is that one or both of the horses were attacked by some bees or horse flies. They were buzzing around that really hot, muggy day.
In later years, making hay would change drastically with wider use of in- field hay balers and field choppers. I must tell you though, while packaging hay into bales did speed up hay making operations a great deal, by no means was the manual work element completely removed! Many a farm kid can vividly recall the muscle-building days of handling baled hay. There were city kids who regretted "challenging" the farm kids, learning the hard way that we did have muscle! My friend Tom, also a farm kid, remembers the time when a couple "city slickers" showed their jealousy over the issue of farm kids being excused from "after-school" PE class. Tom, a slender wiry kid with a mild mannered disposition tried telling them that "they really didn't want to mess with him." Well, that cool, self-confidence was more than they could stand. Tom ended up "putting a hurt" on both of them, after which time they showed more respect for farms kids. Those were the days!
Baling

      The summer of 1950 was the start of a new era in farming for our family. I was thirteen, and Kathy (my oldest sister) was seven. At this age, I believed tractor farming was the only way, hot stuff -- and given a chance I probably would have used the tractor, Dad's first, a 1936 Model "A" John Deere, to go bring in the cows! And I think Dad was ready for some automation too. And so it was that we acquired a good, used J. I. Case, wire tie hay baler. In addition to a person to drive the tractor, two persons were required to ride on the baler to perform the needle-block & wire tie operations. The baler was powered by a four-cylinder air-cooled Wisconsin engine that was started by hand. While this was a good step forward in technology, it was by no means the Ritz! What made this system work was a person for each of three jobs, a tractor driver and the two on the baler. That was Dad, Kathy, and me; and each of us could do at least two of them! Dad and I were the only ones who could operate on the "block" side of the baler -- the side where you inserted the wire guides into the hay chamber at the right bale length, and at the right time with respect to where the hay compression piston was. The wires were then inserted through slots on either side of the wire guides. Kathy usually had the job of the wire tying -- oftentimes the dustiest side of the baler. She now lives in Arkansas with husband Billy.

Black Clover
      Dad was always more of a business man than a farmer, and so before long we were off to other farms doing custom baling of hay & straw. There was one job he contracted for, however, that we all would have wished away if we could. This was a large field of Black Clover hay we were to bale for the Katzmans. The very day after Mr. Katzman's hay was dried and raked, the rains began, and it rained for days. Finally as the weather broke, and Mr. Katzman rolled the windrows over a time or two to get the hay dry. As many of you remember, the days after such extensive rainfall are so muggy, you just smother! And sweat just piles up on your body because there is no evaporation, thus no cooling effect. Baling that old Black Clover was a nightmare. With each plunge of the baler's compressing piston against the hay, a blast of dry, broken leaf fragments came out into the face of those of us riding the baler. We tried goggles with, and without ventilation. With ventilation, you could see but the dust still came into your eyes. With the ventilation holes taped over, the lens clouded up so that you couldn't see! Nothing worked well. The answer was constant washing of the eyes, and rotation of personnel between sitting on the baler and driving the tractor. I doubt I will ever forget those days.
The Allis

       We took one, and sometimes two wagons with us when we went to do custom baling. The baler had a chute attached to the end of the baling chamber which guided the bales up into position where a man, on the trailing wagon, could grab the bale with hay hooks as we traveled along and stack them for transport to the barn. I recall a time when we were lined up for custom baling job only to have trouble with the John Deere. Dad borrowed an Allis Chalmers tractor from a neighbor while the Johnny Popper was in for repairs. I was short, sixty-four inches tall, and that tractor being a foot-clutch job was hard for me to operate. It did have a road gear in it though, and so when it come time for the baler, both wagons and the tractor to depart from the field of hire and head for home, I was quite happy to be the driver. Our farm was on a hillside, the building complex being situated between two major hills in Hodunk Road, the road we lived on. On that road, you came down a short, steep hill, then had a short run of level road with a bank along the right side, and then down a much longer but less steep hill, followed by a long and gentle flat run. Our driveway was at the foot of the short, steep hill. Whenever you have a load behind you like a baler with two wagons, one proceeds down such a hill in a low gear. Not being comfortable with the brakes on the Allis, I put the tractor into second gear -- way down there! On the way down the steep hill, the rig began to pick up speed; braking didn't help; and those wagons were whipping back and forth behind the baler! There was no way I could steer into the driveway -- would have tipped the tractor over. Dad was out in the yard, saw me whiz by, and wasn't a bit happy with what he saw. While I was down into the short level run of the road, I noticed the left axle turning backwards in the wheel hub -- The key had dropped out!! And to make matters worse, the wheel was about to work its way off the end of the axle. So I swerved to the right making the wheel come back in. As I did this, the feeder of the baler run up against the bank along the right side of the road. As I managed to get the wheel back in along the axle, I took the tractor out of gear. The problem, however, was the next hill. Here I was, coming down that long hill, attaining well up toward twenty miles an hour with the baler and two wagons whipping back and forth and me wondering if I was going to tip the tractor over and end up under the train! I finally managed to halt the rig in the long flat stretch that follows. As I dismounted from the tractor, my knees almost wouldn't hold me. Fear does strange things to you. That day, I had fear. I located a bolt, aligned the two keyways, and drove the bolt in for a temporary key and then set out to get the slightly-damaged baler, and the wagons turned around and head for home. Before I was able to get headed for home, however, Dad was down the road in his old 1944 F-5 Ford flatbed truck, and he had "both guns blazing" before he finally learned what happened. But, that was Dad!
Watermelons Along the Road
        There were a few farmers who raised melons to sale to the public. As is almost universal, it seems kids always were inclined to raid a man's melon patch -- more for the thrill of it than for the taste of the melons. I recall one such gentleman who would place some of his really best melons along the road, outside the melon patch, for would-be snitchers to take. The idea was that this practice kept poachers from wrecking a dozen melons while in the act of getting one! To this day, I recall stopping the baler & wagons along the road, to fetch up a couple small melons (I actually preferred muskmelons). I would throw them up into the feed chute of the baler, and take off in a puff of smoke -- the old '36 John Deere "A" with its governor wired to bring engine speed up to around 1200 RPM for road travel.
Loose Flywheel
       As luck would have it, one day right after picking up some melons and pulling back onto the highway (State Route 15/now Walworth County ES), I was driving our other John Deere, a '37 "A" when the flywheel came off the crankshaft; bounded down to the pavement, and then up in the air just in time to go over an oncoming automobile! That never happened before! I was shocked, and also relieved that the flywheel went off into a field without injury to someone. The old tractor ran terrible without the flywheel, but I was able to get everything off the highway before shutting down.
A New Baler

      I think it was 1952 when Dad bought a brand new hay baler from the Ford Dealer. It was a Long 60, automatic twine tie, powered by an electric start Wisconsin V-4 Engine that was just the finest! We were really rocking now! More custom baling was on the horizon, and it was fun. But there was also stress to make the most of time given to you, and the long, long days of work. When the day was over, there wasn't much to do but clean up, have supper, and go to bed. But that baler engine would just "snort" each time the piston was driven into the baling chamber -- its governor was super responsive! Somehow that power was energizing for me. Testosterone and the combustion engine -- what a combination!
The Baler Fire
       We were baling hay on the Schmidt Farm just north of Elkhorn. The weather was hot, and we were pushing as usual so wrap up and move on the next job. One lesson to be learned was that you should keep the air channels open on an air-cooled engine. Unbeknownst to me, those air passages on the baler's Wisconsin engine were filled with hay leaves. That engine was indeed super-hot. Dad brought out some fuel for the baler engine as it was running low. I shut the engine down, poured the gasoline into its tank, and reinstalled the tank cover. But before I ever restarted the baler's engine, the fuel tank stem with cap gently lifted up off the tank (Heat melted the solder), and fire raged out of the hole. That gasoline was on fire as I filled the tank and reinstalled the cap; and I didn't know it! God saved me that day from terrible burns. Before long the entire engine was in flames. The tractor was still running so I headed for a pile of dirt nearby and Dad fetched a shovel -- we got the fire under control by smothering it with dirt. The engine was lost. That afternoon, once the mess was cooled, a new engine was installed and we were back in business the next morning. But I have to say, the replacement engine just didn't seem as snappy as the original one.
        I handled lots of baled hay in my youth in addition to experiences in baling for others. Lots of city kids would take jobs on farms in the summer to "build up" for sports programs in school. Baling made harvesting hay quicker which, in turn, reduced the risk of having hay down when the rains came -- unless you were just plain unlucky. And you had to remain ready to "make hay when the sun shines." This meant doing repairs and preventive maintenance on equipment when the weather kept you out of the fields.
Farmer's Partner
      A local blacksmith was a farmer's "partner" in many ways. Ed Engle in Spring Prairie did all of Dad's iron and steel work. He was so very good -- and I loved going there with Dad even as a really little critter. Ed had some neat machines in his shop -- it was a classic. He had a continuous-running shaft that run the length of the shop which was driven by a "hit-and-miss" engine. From the shaft, belts run to a number of special tools Ed used to do his work -- but those tools were "connected" to the shaft only when they were being used. I recall going to Ed's shop with Dad in the early 40's, and that engine then looked as if it had been there for a long time! He is the one who cut the steel wheels off and welded rims (cut-offs for rubber tires) onto the '36 John Deere for Dad. They were straight and true, and didn't crack out -- a great job. It isn't easy to weld 3/8" thick steel spokes to a 14 gauge rim and make it a good bond, but Ed had that skill. I continue to have the utmost respect for men like Ed Engle who were artisans indeed! He had a skill range from harness repair and nailing shoes on a horse to advanced mechanical design and fabrication with steel. I often wondered how he learned as much as he knew about the fabrication world, but I truly believe he learned from performance under a master blacksmith before him -- maybe even his Dad.
Corollary
     With my enlistment into the US Air Force in January 1955, insufficient financial resources to keep up with technologies, and near wipe out of our dairy herd due to Bangs Disease, Dad pretty much stopped farming for a living about this time. He opted instead for life in factories which dotted the map in those days, becoming a casting grinder in the foundry at Whitewater, Wisconsin. Mom would write to me that he came home looking like he had been in a coal mine, and that he was always coughing up 'junk' from his respiratory system. I am sure this life style shortened his years considerably. Dad and I never experienced the more modern methods of harvesting, and so I invite others to write of their farming experiences in harvesting and life on the family farm using those super machines! Those were the days!

TTT May 2003 Page 12

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