Rain On The Hay

Being a boy on a farm was an adventure to me.  There were so many things to interest me and keep me busy.  But my youth kept me from understanding life’s uncertainty and deep dependency Grandpa felt.  He was dependent upon the weather, the markets, his health, the availability of help when he needed it, and other things.  His life was far more fragile than I ever could have imagined.  Now as an adult in the latter stages of my life I realize that all of our lives are fragile.  They can change in an instant and not necessarily for the better.  Grandpa understood this.  For example, the process of growing, cutting, raking, and baling the hay took time.  If everything went as planned, it was a routine process.  Sometimes the alfalfa would grow so tall that a strong wind could lay it down in the field making it very difficult to mow, leaving a large portion in the field instead of in the haystack.  But if it was a dry year water may not be available and the alfalfa might not grow much, if at all.  After we mowed the hay it laid in the field for a day before we raked it into windrows so it could dry before being baled.  If you let it dry too much the leaves would be lost in the baling, and most of the plant’s nutrition is in the leaves.  If you baled it too soon there would be too much moisture in the hay and it would mold in the bale and could even produce enough heat to start a fire, which happened a few times, leaving an entire crop in ashes.  Timing was critical.  Knowing when to cut the hay was an important decision.  As long as the weather cooperated everything went smoothly, but it didn’t always cooperate.  Sometimes, despite the best planning, it rained on the hay between the time it was cut and when it was baled.  That made it harder and sometimes even impossible to save the crop.  That was just life on the farm.  It was just life.  It was a setback and made life more difficult.  Some things in life are simply beyond our control.  There is nothing we can do about it.  Dwelling on it doesn’t change anything but can make the grieving more permanent.  Sometimes the setbacks for my grandparents far exceeded a lost crop or unfavorable markets.  Some were catastrophic and tragic, and occurred more than once in their lives.  Within the last year I became aware of perhaps the most tragic thing they ever encountered.  I still don’t know all of the particulars but in my estimation, it would have brought anyone to their knees.  I’m quite certain it brought them to theirs.  Despite how heart rending it must have been for them, they kept moving forward, which couldn’t have been easy.  They just kept breathing, fixing meals, milking the cows, feeding the animals, and raising crops, all despite the ever present pain they felt.  It’s a lesson I learned from observing them later in life and one that has served me well.  When I’ve had to deal with setbacks, some more painful than others, the inclination to quit has always raised its ugly head.   Some of my setbacks were of my own making and others beyond my control.  Regardless of origin, once done there wasn’t anything I could do to prevent it from happening.  Moving forward after any setback can be daunting, but what is the alternative?