Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Hey hey hay

No. I ain’t what’s his name with “the rest of the story.” It’s me with the rest of my neighbor’s hay tale. I guess I told about them having dangerously made a great big combustible pile out of hay. That wasn’t where the problem stemmed to grow from. First our country newbie bought himself several loads of hay from Michigan’s Upper Peninsular. The hay in itself was alright but wrongly wrap tied with bio-gradable twine instead of plastic for selling and hauling let alone shipping long distances. Well the bio-gradable had already started failing before it was loaded upon the first truck. At least a three hundred mile trip from the U.P. to here was nay all that good and tight a ride for that hay. Then when it was delivered already loosening our newbie neighbor and his family cohorts not having a tractor with a properly configured loader, they commenced to push, pull and pry those hay bales of that truck’s trailer loosening the hay bales still more. Then it came to pass they used my hayforks chained onto a tracked loader dozer to take up the hay bales from where they fell piled all that hay so dangerously. Here’s where we came along hoping to save the man’s purchase. This is essential in a place hay happens to be at an absence premium these days. While the hay bales mat be properly set in rows upon the good earth these days, the bales having loosened so badly they at least need their tops covered, with some eight or ten foot widths visqueen, to shed some of the elements if is to be good a year and hopefully some from now.
A side note here, talking large round bales! Small leafed hay from alfalfa does not necessarily wrap and tie tight enough to last more than one winter. 50/50 hay, half alfalfa/ half grass, will wrap some better the grass mixed in to keep this hay more like a couple years. Now, purely baled grass hay rolled up and tired acting like a thatched English roof will keep for four/five years. I’ve fed some that was eight years old, the cattle preferring it to the newer stuff. Some years we produce some tastier stuff than others, I‘d scientifically guess. This is the rest of the Newbie hay’s story.
Paul Harvey, you ain’t got nothing‘ on me anymore. (grin)
Made therapy. I do like those girls magic hands. From there home for change of hats. Hitting the road with an empty wagon it was one of them around the block day’s, two elevators for more shelled corn and weight slips. Had lunch and putting on another hat I went about utilizing the recent rain and snow’s, the earth moistened just enough I took the Ford tractor with the back blade set at about 45 degree angle to slice and move once stubborn earth to fill some nasty two year old ruts in the hay yard. Point is I want to unload the hay wagons myself rather than the ruts unloading those same wagons by means of uneven rocking and rolling spilling their super moist or dried green loads.
While I more or less took it easy packing ice packs on so sensitive areas, Bro’ was searching, researching some’s very interesting parts.
The Senior Center bus picked Frieda up this morning taking her in for a jewelry making party(?) or jewelry making instruction. I later got the impression Frieda would rather have taken her own kitchen drawer tools with her to use than those of her instructor. Hile the instructors tools were junk, Frieda’s were merely cheap.
With grand thoughts of taking the 4-180 to the shop tomorrow maybe delayed a day or two my having to clear a space directly across the drive from the shop. Son of a gun. Just where am I going to put that stuff. That’s right, precious stuff. It ain’t junk yet.
Now I’ve got to fill out the/a Nielsen radio diary. BGKC.

A late nite admonition of my character development:
Way back when we were on the farm, Mom insisted I treasure a good nights sleep over anything else I might do. Thankfully she hadn’t thought to include my future’s adventures a friend and loving her when the night was under a full moon, to be certain I got to sleep. Now, if the big guy upstairs had wanted me up there in bed every night by nine o’clock, women would not have been allowed man to invent the eleven o’clock news.

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