“If you have to, take a break, go to your corner, get some sleep, but don’t ever give up. You will get there.” -Colin Cunningham (“…an American television and film actor” -Wikipedia)
It’s no secret that I’m not in great physical shape. I don’t know if I ever have been, really. Ever since I hit puberty, I’ve been a little overweight. But I’ve always felt pretty strong. I’m not sure how old I was when I started helping to bale hay, but I got my first horse when I was in 6th grade, and I was in charge of taking care of him, so it was probably around that time. The first time I drove anything other than a riding lawnmower was driving the farm pickup through a waterway while my dad walked alongside, picking up bales that he’d just let fall on the ground since there wasn’t a lot of hay and he didn’t have anyone to help bale. I would drive until I came to a bale, then stop so Dad could throw it in the back of the pickup. I think I was twelve.
Most of the time, when we baled hay, my dad would drive the tractor while my brother and I would ride on the hayrack and stack bales as they came off the baler. Then, my dad and I would switch places. My brother ‘got’ to stack bales the whole time. As I got older and stronger, I was able to stack them a little higher–five-high instead of four. And even throwing a few on top of that, though not in any organized way. And, over the years, after my brother and I both moved away, my dad would find others to help. When I moved back to the general area, though, I decided that baling hay was something I could help with again. So, when my dad needed help (and I was available), I would. He’d usually find someone else to be on the rack the whole time, and still, he and I would trade places–sometimes driving, sometimes stacking.
A few years ago, I was on the rack by myself for the first time. It was just a waterway, so lighter bales of grass hay, and only about half a load (45 bales) which I only stacked three-high, but I did it, and I was proud enough of it to post this picture on Facebook.
Earlier this week, my dad asked me what my work schedule was like because he’d just mowed some hay and might need help baling it. I didn’t work on Wednesday, so after I walked a mile with the dog, ran my daily mile, and worked on some stuff around home, we hooked the John Deere baler up to the John Deere 4000, hooked a rack behind it, and went out to get started. Again, all we were going to do was grass hay, so I wasn’t too terribly worried about it. Stupid me forgot my water bottle, but I thought I’d be okay. And I was for quite a while. There was a nice breeze, and the windrows were thin enough in some areas that the bales came pretty slowly so I got little breaks here and there. Oh, in case you’re wondering:
But then we got to a place where he’d doubled up the windrows, and the bales started coming fast. I went as long as I could, but when we were about 90 bales in, I yelled to get his attention and told him I needed to stop. I couldn’t keep up, couldn’t catch my breath, and I almost felt like I was going to pass out. He put the tractor in Park and shut down the power takeoff. I lay down on the short stack of bales next to me for a couple minutes and was able to catch my breath. Then he drove the whole rig to my aunt’s house, which was right around the corner so I could get some water. I sucked down a full glass and a half, and started to feel MUCH better. While I was getting a drink, Dad went and threw a few bales on top of my five-high stacks to make room, because he knew it was going to be a pretty full load. I went back out, climbed back up on the rack, and we were back at it, though he slowed down some. About 20 more bales, and we were done for the day. And I felt okay. I got home, drank a little Gatorade (and more water), took a shower, and felt pretty good. It was that accomplished kind of feeling when you’re physically exhausted, but feel great about what you were able to do. Here’s a picture of that load. Like I said, I stacked it all except the 3 or 4 bales that he threw on top, which you can hardly see in this picture.
It’s clearly not a perfectly stacked load of hay, but it’s solid, and it has more than twice the number of bales that I stacked by myself in that other picture a few years ago. But I couldn’t have finished it if I hadn’t taken that break. Which brings me to the moral of this story…
I think a lot of us believe that we have to have to keep going–keep working, no matter what, if we want to succeed. That we don’t deserve to take vacations or even a night off to relax if all of the work isn’t done. That goes for physical work AND mental work. This was a trap that I fell into when I was teaching. If I wasn’t perfectly caught-up (and I never was), I was either working on school work, or feeling immense guilt for not working on school work. My brain was always occupied with school, whether I was working on it or not, and that’s just no way to live. That’s why I needed to get out of teaching, and I think a lot of my former colleagues are in the same boat. Some of them have the whole teacher/home-life balance down, which amazes me, but I’m sure some of them feel the same way I did–always worrying about the work and the students, never feeling like they’re doing enough but unable to bring themselves to do more. In the U.S. education system, that seems to be the nature of the beast–it never ends, and I just didn’t want to do it anymore. A big difference with baling hay, though, is that I got to a point where I needed to stop for a little while. I asked for help, got what I needed to feel better, and then I was able to finish the job. (We won’t talk about the alfalfa mix hay that he baled the next day with some other people loading–I was at work, so I couldn’t help… 😬) I could finish the job because, when it got tough, I took a break and got what I needed.
It’s also a lesson in not judging a book by its cover, or, in this case, not judging a person’s ability by their appearance. Yes, I’m carrying extra weight. But I’m still running a mile every day (slow as it may be), and I was able to load that whole rack of hay (eventually). And yes–I’m proud of what I did, but it still doesn’t hold a candle to what my dad can do. Today, the Bearded One and I went out for a late lunch today and then shopping for a birthday present. I’d forgotten my phone at home, and when we got back I had a voicemail from Dad saying he had a little baling to finish up today and was wondering if I might be able to help. When I called him back, he was already half-finished with it, doing it himself. I told him we were planning to leave for a birthday party soon, but that I could come out if he needed me to. He just said not to worry about it. And when we came home from the birthday party tonight, I saw the rack he’d loaded by himself, having to climb up and down off the tractor and onto the rack, and then back up onto the tractor periodically. Now that’s some moxie…
growingmoxie.com 
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