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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph Do you remember what it was like when you were a kid and someone said you weren't tall enough, or strong enough, or old enough, or experienced enough to complete a task? Do you remember how outraged you felt? When I was a kid, if my father - or my brother, Ingman, who is 21 years older than me - doubted my ability to perform some task around the farm, well - I'd do it, just to prove they were wrong. And then after that, I'd find the particular task I'd proven I could do had become a regular chore I was expected to do. When I think about it now, I guess sometimes I wasn't too bright about such things. Unloading the hay wagon is the perfect example. I suppose I was probably about 11 or 12. A load of hay sat by the elevator near the barn, ready to be unloaded into the hay mow above. It was a clear, hot summer afternoon. Not a single cloud in the robin's-egg-blue sky overhead. Dad and Ingman were discussing the best way to unload the hay, trying to find some solution so they wouldn't have to walk so far or work so hard up in the mow. Usually, two people in the mow and one unloading the hay wagon is highly desirable. If there are two people in the mow, where it tends to be hotter than it is outside because of the roof absorbing the sun's rays, neither one has to work as hard. I listened to their conversation for a few moments - "I can unload the wagon and BOTH of you can be up in the mow," I said, delighted with my ingenuity. My father and brother looked at each other. They looked at me. Then they looked at each other again. "Well - I don't know," Dad said slowly, repositioning his blue-and-white-pin-striped cap. "You'd have to put them on the elevator pretty fast to keep us both busy - I don't think you can do it." After all, I was only 11 or 12 years old. Well - there you have it. My father had issued the challenge: "I don't think you can do it." "Yes I CAN do it," I assured them. "I KNOW I can do it." Reluctantly, they agreed to let me unload the wagon. I think they were certain they'd be standing in the mow, with a long wait between bales, yawning and bored. As it turned out, that load of hay was perfect. Probably second crop. Bales of perfectly-dried fragrant alfalfa hay that seemed as light as a feather. Sometimes, if the weather forecast called for rain and Dad decided it was better to bale the hay when it was still a little green rather than let it get wet in the rain, the bales could end up weighing more than I did. But these bales were so light I could have handled them all day long, and in the evening, still had energy left over for something really strenuous - like a hundred-mile bike ride. Dad and Ingman climbed into the mow, and then I started putting bales on the elevator. And I made sure they were as close together as I could get them - touching, if possible. I didn't want my father and brother to say I hadn't kept them busy up in the mow - otherwise they'd never let me unload another wagon. (See, I told you. I wasn't too bright about these things sometimes.) I had the wagon unloaded in no time flat. Even though it was a hot summer day it wasn't humid, and I was working in the shade of the barn. I didn't feel at all sweaty or tired by the time I finished. After I shut off the elevator (I knew how to do that, too, thank you very much), I waited for Dad and Ingman to come out of the mow. In a few minutes, down they came. They were sweating. Heavily. And panting a little bit too, it seemed to me. "Was I fast enough? Did I do okay?" I asked, anxiously awaiting their verdict on my performance. "Yeah," said Dad, when he'd caught his breath. "That was fine.' I should have known better. After that, I frequently was expected to unload the hay wagons. You would think I'd catch on, sooner or later, but I never did. I kept right on trying to prove my capabilities and then finding the task I proved I could do had become my assigned chore. |
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