There were some rules that you just had to live by growing up on a dairy farm.

The first was the livestock had to be fed twice a day, regardless the weather. 

The second was pretty darn close to the first. 

The cows always - ALWAYS - had to be milked twice a day.

Another rule, not quite as unbreakable, but up there towards the top, was when hay was out in the field, it came only after the care of the livestock.

We were fortunate to have a good baler and a good FarmHand bale accumulator.  The accumulator was a device that was attached to the baler and would kick out neat packs of eight bales automatically behind the baler, then later, you could come around with a loader with a special loader and pick up the packs of bales and put them on a hay rack.

We had making hay darn near down to a science. 

Dad would start checking the hay, walking the windrows, twisting the hay to make sure it was fit - not to dry, not to wet, but just right to make a good sturdy bale that wouldn’t rot, or worse, heat to a point where it would start a fire.

Once Dad declared the hay fit, he would go off in the John Deere 3010 and the baler, the John Deere 336 for most of my baling years, and get a good hour start on my brother Jaime and me.

Jaime and I would go out, Jaime, being older, driving the loader tractor, an International 656 (commonly known as the “656″) and me on the old Farmall H (you guessed it, affectionately known as the “H”).

Each of us would be pulling a specially designed hay wagon, hand made on the farm.  A Minnesota chassis, built with care by the inmates at the Minnesota state pen, extended and fitted with the best rough cut lumber in the state.  You could fit three packs of bales, or twenty-four bales, the short way, across, and two bale lengths across.  All totaled, about 352 bales, or about seven tons of hay.

Jaime and I would pick up hay until milking time, then head back out for one more load before it got dark (and before supper).

It happened about once a year - we would head back out, about 7:30pm - just as the western horizon started to cloud up.  When we made it out into the field, Dad would stop long enough to get a quick update on the cows, then he would say - watch that weather boys as we he took a slug on his water jug and moved back to baling.

We would scurry around the field and quickly fill the racks, Jaime nimbly running the loader as I positioned the racks.  We usually fought a little less as the threatening weather moved it too.

When the last rack was full, I’d hop off the H, run over hook up the second full rack to Jaime’s tracter, we would glance at the sky, glance at each other and know - we had to get home.

Dad was already heading home, the hay too tough and the weather threatening.

Jaime would speed off with the heavier and newer 656, and I’d rush off to the little old H.

The H was a light tractor, the oldest running tractor on our farm, and the only narrow front.  She ran smooth, but with seven tons of hay, she knew she had to work and would sound it.

I’d hop on and take her right to second gear.

“Frrooooommmm, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop” the H would respond.

I’d shift to second and quickly to third.

“FRRRROOOMMMMM, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop” said the H.

I’d hit the clutch as I approached the crossing, backing off the throttle, my foot tapping the left side brake a my arms fighting with the steering wheel as I turned onto the road that ran a good one and half mile home, with the storm on my heels.

I’d gun the throttle to full speed and quickly shift to road gear as the first cold draft from the approaching storm hit my back…

“FRRRROOOMMMMM, POP, POP, SNORT, POP, POP, SNORT, SNORT, POP, POP, WEEE, POP POP” said the H with ther front wheels now bouncing off the gravel.

I’d lean forward on the metal seat like a motorcycle racer trying to reduce the wind drag and get a little more out of the old girl (which probably made little difference with seven tons of hay sticking up fifteen feet in the air behind me).

I eased back the throttle, downshifted, use the brakes to help steer her on the drive way and made for the open shed doors where Dad and Jaime were waiting to close them behind me just as the raindrops started to fall.

“You didn’t have her in road gear full open did you” Said Dad over the roar of the rain on the machine shed roof.

“Of course not, I know better then that.” I said, as I patted the old girl on her gas tank…