Hey Pops, Happy Birthday.

Hay Bale Cake courtesy of Google Images

One day back when I was 10 or 12 or so, on a hot and humid August day in Virginia, my father, uncle, two older brothers, and I made hay from sun up to sun down in the rays of a beating sun. My uncle, would be ahead of everyone on a tractor attached to a hay baler producing heavy square bales and spitting them into the field. Being an exceptionally tiny person at that age, I usually was on the hay wagon attached to another tractor driven by my dad. My brothers were walking alongside this tractor, grabbing hay bales and tossing them to me. I would then neatly stack them so as to get the most hay on the tractor but as fast as possible. It's not easy work and it is definitely not fun. (the latter being a disputable statement among farm kids similar to whether nymphing is respectable fly fishing) You wear long sleeved heavy shirts, long heavy pants, socks, and boots in what is without fail the most humid hot day in Virginia. We nearly got the entire front field baled and put away in the barn by dark. There was just a few long rows left.

Starving and exhausted, we sat down for a great dinner prepared by my mom and aunt without even washing up first. A strong feeling of relief hung over the table that this hard day of work was complete. Suddenly my dad spoke up, "Forecast is calling for rain showers this evening." This was terrible news for hay that has been cut, raked, and left in the field because then you have to let it dry and re-rake it and dry it out further....adding more work and time to get the hay in and possibly ruining it. Being young and naive, I assumed my dad would chalk it up to bad luck. Boy was I wrong.

Dad grimly looked up and demanded that after dinner we will all go out and finish making the rest of the hay in the dark. Naturally my teenage brothers and I immediately protested angrily likely telling Pops he had lost his mind.
Without missing a beat, my dad said, "Look, if it don't kill ya outright it's bound to make ya stronger. Now let's get out there."

So there we were late at night, myself carrying an old lantern to help my brothers see the hay bales (pre-headlamps)....Nasty big bugs attacking my face, tired, angry, and fed up. But you know what? It didn't kill me. It did make me stronger.

Thanks Dad and Happy Birthday...I'm super lucky to have you in my life and am a stronger person because of it.

-k8

Me showing off my strength by holding up my dad, please take note that I am the one sitting in the deer hunter chair