But those crazy bastards are in short sleeves. You always put on a long sleeve shirt, even in August, because that hay will cut the ever-living shit out of your arms. Short sleeves = bleeding forearms.
Up where I lived it was 1.5 tons of hay per horse for the winter. Mom had two horses, Neighbors had more, and they always needed help bucking bales. This is how I earned some cash during the summer. Brings back memories, it does....
3 comments:
if i never throw another bale again in my lifetime it'll be too damn soon. farm nearby had a kick ass trout stream runnin thru it. me & the fellahs threw hay bales in exchange for stream access; never took a dime. .. and it was worth every damn bale. we had that stretch of water to ourselves from opening day till the end of the season.
It builds character! Lots and lots of character!
Ours was picking cotton and riding in the back of those damned dusty chicken-wire cargo trucks. It's one reason I thought that a construction job at 15 was delightful, but then came the grown-up jobs like bagging groceries and retail sales. Wasn't until I was 16 that I actually got to keep some of it, though.
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