Hay Leaves Itch

Grandpa grew enough alfalfa that most years he would hire help to haul the hay from the field to the barnyard.  Before baling machines, hauling the hay required using a pitchfork to load the hay onto a wagon and a derrick to stack it.  Baling the hay made this job immensely easier.  The hay was hauled on a large wooden wagon that Grandpa called a hay rack.   You could stack quite a number of hay bales on a hay rack but they had to be stacked by hand.  That required help.  The hay rack was pulled slowly between two rows of bales.  A young man would walk on each side and throw the bales onto the hay rack.  Another young man would stack the bales.  Sometimes there were two stackers because stacking was the more demanding job.  When I was a young boy not yet old enough to lift the bales, I still wanted to go with them.  I would ride on the wagon, climb the bales as they were stacked higher and generally enjoy myself.  On one occasion that I have never forgotten, my father was filling in for one of the young men who had been unable to work that day.  They had loaded the hay and we were headed back to the barnyard.  All the young men were seated together a little below me.  My father was sitting nearby.  I began throwing hay leaves onto the young men.  As you can well imagine hauling hay in the heat of the summer was sweaty business.  The hay leaves stuck to them and were very itchy.  I know now that they didn’t react because my father was there.  That only enabled me to fancy myself as king of the hill.  I escalated my attacks to the point of putting a hand full of hay leaves down the shirt of one of the boys.  Finally he’d had enough.  He grabbed me and stuffed my shirt full of hay leaves.  I hadn’t expected that.  What was a father for if not to protect me?  I began to cry and pleadingly looked to my father wanting help, but I’d have been satisfied with at least justice.  He was laughing.  My circumstances had taken a dire turn.  He let this little drama run its course without interceding in my behalf.  When I had calmed down he told me that if I didn’t want hay leaves stuffed down my shirt it would be wise not to do that to someone else.  I never did again.