At one time we had 3 or 4 pencil drawings by Don Greytak, a Montana artist. In downsizing for our move to Fargo, we let many things go. This picture we kept because both Mary and I see ourselves in it. She remembers, not fondly, how she would be drafted to drive a tractor pulling the trailer. She says it was a hateful job that she didn’t seem to think she had the aptitude for. I’m one of those guys lifting, throwing, and stacking the bales. Back in the day this was a time of year farmers needed extra hands to move the hay crop off the field, and neighbors always came looking for help. The going rate was $7 a day with dinner at noon. I guess when you’ve got nothing in your pocket, $7 seemed okay.
One year perfect weather conditions produced a crop of sandburs in the hayfield like any I’ve seen since. No way could they be avoided when manhandling the bales. I remember stickers still festering out of my thighs that winter.
When we lived in Mandan I helped my brother-in-law make hay. Now that was an entirely different experience. I drove a large tractor with a front mounted haybine that cut and laid out a nice windrow behind. After the hay dried, he would bale it to pick up with a hydraulic loader. Little muscle was required.
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