By the Light of the Full Moon

It’s been a big week. First there was the potato party, then we butchered all of the heritage and broad-breasted white turkeys that we had raised all summer on pasture (if you want to get one from the farm for your holiday table, don’t wait—they’re already over half sold out). Then it was splitting and stacking firewood for cooking pizzas next year, and then haymaking.
Yup, it’s mighty late in the season, but finally there was a long enough dry stretch to firm up the soil and get the hay made. I’ll admit it’s the first year I’ve had to evict the curing winter squash from the hay wagon! Usually we’re haying well before the squash comes in. But not this time, with such a wet late summer into autumn. For a while, we were wondering if there would be a chance for a second crop at all this year—a dire situation when you’re feeding so many sheep through the long winters.
It was Wednesday, and the crews had started in around 1 pm with the baling, so when I joined the process after closing Farmstead Creamery at 5, the haying equipment was off the field and the wagons were lined up in the barnyard. Kara and our eager volunteer Dustin Halls were up in the mow, wrestling the heavy square bales into order, while Steve was stacking them on the old elevator. Clankety-clack, and up they went, disappearing through the little doorway in the side of the barn that was just big enough for the project.
I climbed up onto the wagon, pulling tightly-bound bales to the edge so that they were easier for Steve to grab. Already, the sun was sinking fast, and we were working diligently to have all the hay inside before the dew settled. Little did I know, however, what was to come next!
Mom shared that the haying crew had left a windrow on the south edge of both hay fields unbaled. These parts are shaded by the trees because the sun sweeps so much lower in the sky this time of year. These windrows had not dried sufficiently enough to be baled. But rain was coming the next day, so there would be no “coming back to bale tomorrow” in the offing.
If it rains on the hay now, it would start rotting. If we baled it wet, the bales would heat up to the point of self-combusting. I’ve had to help dis-assemble smoking-hot bales in the driveway in the hopes of preventing a barn fire, and it’s a scary job! Moral of the story—don’t bale wet hay. But two full windrows on the longest parts of the fields would be too much to lose to rotting. We had to go get that hay somehow.
So as a hay wagon become available, Mom and I headed to the field with pitch forks in hand. It felt very ancestral, really, scooping up mounds of the hay and laying it on top of the wagon. If we’d been pulling it with a horse instead of the ATV, it could have been a picture from 100 years ago. Unlike the usual deafening clang of the baler and knotter, it was amazingly quiet, with just the swoosh of the forks and occasional conversation.
But the sun was sinking fast by now, and we were thrilled to see Steve and Dustin come with the truck and another trailer, with Kara in tow on the little skid-steer. We bought that rig to clean barns, calling it out “powered pitch fork” and goodness, was it true to that name on Wednesday! Equipped with the bucket that has a series of long tines on the front, Kara scooped right down the wind-row, dumping it onto the wagon.
Mom drove on the right side of the row while Steve was on the left. Dustin and I were on top of the wagons, trouncing down the hay and leveling the loads as Kara brought them by the huge scoop-full. Our portable hay stacks kept up, while Mom and Steve would pick up the scraps that fell off. Higher and higher we piled and trounced, piled and trounced. I had hay in my shoes, hay up my sleeves, hay stuck on my hat. There was hay everywhere. Remember those play places as a kid with all the colorful balls in the pit that you tried to wade through? Well, it was kind of like that, only in a moving mound of hay!
Darkness had fully descended, and we worked by headlights until there, to the east, the great full moon rose up, golden-orange and huge at the horizon to shine the way. And as Dustin and I rode those wagons full back to the barnyard so we could tuck them under shelter, the full moon lit and guided our way.
I’ll admit it was the first time I’d brought in hay by moonlight, but 8 pm would still be sunny in summertime. The sheep, however, were happy for the fresh, green hay, no matter what hour it came into the barn—great nutrition as lambing season continues. And we were all quite eager for the pork roast with potatoes and carrots I’d cooked earlier, with cranberry apple crisp.
Some of my college friends pushed papers in a cubicle today. I’m so grateful I got to be outside working, bringing in the crop and savoring the full moon. What makes you grateful this week? See you down on the farm sometime.