What is the difference between a puppy and John Kiefner? A farmer probably can always complain about something: too hot, too dry, broken machinery, or rogue animals, too wet, too cold, low prices/yields. Each day or season brings its own success and failure.
We are in the “dog days of summer.” The ancient Greeks and Romans noticed how Sirius, the Dog Star, which is the brightest star of the constellation Canis Major, tended to be closest to the sun during the hottest time of the year. They believed the two stars being close together caused the extreme heat.
After a lengthy rain delay, my farm was finally able to complete wheat and oat harvest and return to hay harvest. I have truly started to embrace my new mantra; “I want it hot and dry (emphasis on dry), hot enough to make the momma mosquito cry.” If you worked with my baling crew this July you would probably curse humid weather, too.
I have found that many people do not understand evaporative cooling. In high humidity the human body loses its ability to seek comfort through evaporative cooling. That means the last several weeks have been brutal for the 4 young men that work on my hay crew and me. At 57 years old, I am 10 years younger than their combined age. They have not complained nearly as much as me during this humid stretch of baling weather. I whined so much they brought me some cheese and crackers to go with my whine.
My hay doesn’t dry well with high humidity. I am weary from carrying 3 gallons of water each day to quench my thirst. I am tired of dumping Gold Bond powder down my shorts to suppress chafing caused by excessive sweating. Do you enjoy waking in the middle of the night with leg cramps? Do you enjoy sweating into your boots and working the last 10 hours of the day with wet socks? I sure don’t.
On Saturday, July 24, the forecasted rain did hit Will County late that afternoon. Many of my hay fields were already 3 weeks late for the 2nd cutting to be done, and I still had 5 of my 57 hay fields to complete the 1st cutting on. The haybine was cutting fields full speed on Sunday morning. Monday we cut more hay on the premise that we would be able to bale it on Wednesday, before the next rain. I had actually devised a plan where I could come close to catching up on my work before Thursday’s rain, cut more hay fields on Friday, and take Saturday off for the barn quilt tour and bale again on Sunday. My feet needed a break. My calluses on my hands needed a break. All of my muscles needed a break.
I was baling on Monday and pushing the crew. I was determined to make hay whenever the forecast gave me a couple of dry days. Tommy, my most seasoned farm hand, even quizzed me as to why I was pushing so hard if there was no rain in the forecast until Thursday. I gave him the same answer he has heard several times this year, “You can never trust the forecast when it is this humid.” Sure enough, Wednesday morning brought a surprise rain. Mother Nature beat me again.
The old joke was, “How is a puppy different than a farmer?” I have changed it to myself since I cannot speak for other farmers and certainly do not want to generalize all farmers in the same category as myself. “The puppy will eventually grow up and quit whining.” I hope to whine for another 30 plus years.
I may whine until the day I die, but I do have to admit, at 57, the boys on my crew can physically beat me in a 12-hour day of hard physical labor. I can beat them at experience, but they could probably work me into my grave. I think a couple days ago we came a little too close for comfort. Some changes are in order for next year.
By the way, I love Tillamook cheddar cheese or any aged cheddar. It goes great after a day of whining. Incidentally, aged cheddar is very dry, the way I like it.
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