Haying - part 3 of a story of life on one North Country farm

Harry and Jane were acquired in the 1980s, when Matt was a kid. They weren’t a perfectly matched pair of Belgians, nor did they work, except for taking family and friends on an occasional sleigh ride. The arrival of Elam with his Amish understanding of non-motorized conveyances changed that, and soon “horsepower” took on a new meaning. For some chores, the horses were no match for Pierce’s Deutz (or even for the old Allis Chalmers, for that matter) but they could pull a loaded hay wagon back to the barn.

Billy LaForty began working on the farm while he was in high school, more interested in the money that might be made than in the work to be done. Although Pierce didn’t often tell him so, Billy proved to be an able helper. His earnings were poured into an old Chevy convertible whose stereo system throbbed at only slightly greater decibels than its rattles. Billy loved driving the mile or so to the adjacent farm where heifers were kept, roaring down Pierce’s long driveway - baseball cap backwards on his head in teenage style - to the throbbing of a pair of “sub-woofers” that the do-it-yourself catalog had described as “able to crank out the juice that today’s tricked out, car-rocking outfits demand!” Riding shotgun on those trips was the bearded young man from another century sitting rigidly upright and holding on to his wide-brimmed black hat.

Unlike throwing some food to the heifers, haying is hard work: hot, dusty, sweaty and exhausting. Pierce would drive the old Allis Chalmers tractor that pulled the baler and then the hay wagon, the configuration resembling a short train. The baler's “kicker” heaved its forty-pound bundles onto the wagon; Billy and Elam stacked the bales and bantered.

Chatter and ribbing was nearly constant, and one day Billy was trying to center it on Amish hats. He thought his wisecracks were clever, but Elam scored a lethal blow: “That hat on backwards makes you look like the ass-end of a cow,” he cracked in his heavily accented English. There were Amish in the part of Pennsylvania where he grew up, thought Pierce, but who ever knew they could talk like that!

Another wagon filled, Harry and Jane threw their weight against the harnesses and turned barn-ward. They, like the men, sweated. Heat waves shimmered above the motor of the Allis Chalmers as Pierce watched them for a moment. Sarah was walking across the stubble, coming towards them with another pitcher of lemonade.

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