Building Haystacks

Sorry it has been a while since the last story... you know how Summers go.  Here are some great memories from Crystal.  I can relate on all counts.  Especially the part about Uncle Ross... he was some kind of mind wizard with those bales... it was rare, but I remember getting him good once with Dad... I can still hear the  "hohhh... boy" as he attempted to lift the greenest of green bales... followed by laughter all around, including from Ross himself.  I also echo her thanks.  

Good times!

From Crystal:

I got to buck bales this week at work!  Okay, so the bales were something like 20"x10"x10" and covered in plastic wrap, but still.  We got about 50 of these little straw bales in this week in preparation for fall, they came with an assortment of scarecrows.  As I was throwing these bales off our conveyer belt as fast as I could ...stacking them with proper farm technique mind you, I couldn't help but be taken back to all those days on top of the stack having bales sent up the elevator at us as fast as the people below could send them.  The girls down stairs kept trying to turn off the belt cause they thought I had more than I could handle, but that farm pride had kicked in and I let them know that those things could come up as fast as they could send them.
 
It made me stop and think about everything I do.  I think everything I do I'm still just building haystacks.  I work with the same competitive speed I learned from competing with Douglas and trying to live up to Jami's reputation.  I maintain the same pride I had in trying to make sure my part of the stack was not the one weaving and lopsided.  I know I didn't always succeed in this, but I also learned in the act of building haystacks how to maintain a positive expression no matter how hot and tired I was.  I learned to enjoy my work and how to have fun when I worked.  Ross had an incredible ability to make light bales look heavy and heavy ones look much lighter.  This was horrible on the back, but good for the spirit.  I couldn't help but laugh every time I about threw a hay bale over my head or didn't even manage to move it in my first attempt because I had unconsciously judged it's weight based on the way Ross had given it to me.  I leaned that to sit down is the kiss of death, it is much harder to get going again after you have rested.   

I maintain pride in knowing I can do hard things and receive the same satisfaction when I look over my work.  There is no better feeling in the world then looking over a well completed haystack and knowing all the work you put into it.
 
Thanks to all who taught me how to build haystacks.

Forts

I love, Love, LOVE this one from Crystal.  Forts were a big part of growing up Juniper style.  Where else would kids be allowed to exercise such creativity?

From Crystal:

I think we should give mention to the many clubs and clubhouses/forts that accounted for so many of our days.  I particularly remember being a small child and being excluded from the “big” kid’s club house.  Where if I remember right Jami was queen and Aaron was king ….dang they were cool. 

But I do believe that when we became the “big” kids (Doug, Brad, Laura, Jerica, Myself and occasionally the younger boys Jason, Forest and Levi) is when the real fort building took place.  The “old house” or old church farm grain bin was really a carpentry experience training facility.  We were not shy about stealing old slabs of wood and less old buckets of nails and hammers to turn our “old house” into a three story mansion.  

Of course accomplishing this feat did not come without some painful learning experiences.  For example: If you slip while standing on the bar which stretches across the rooms (the only way to reach the third floor area with your hammer) you should make sure to gracefully fall in front of or behind said bar and not take it up the center.  

When building a swing use enough twine.  

When building a floor use enough support boards and nails.

The best feature of our fort was the trampoline swing.  We found the frame of an old one man jumper; you know the kind the little trampolines that are about two feet wide and 8 in off the ground.  The frame had only two legs remaining.  Simply by hanging the legs on the bar that ran through the center of the house we had the best swing man has ever built (we just had to remember not to swing to high or the entire thing would jump of the bars….which happened many a time).  

Second best feature was probably the toilet in the corner …don’t know what that was ….Doug?

Does anyone have a picture of the “old house?”  Remember the lean on that thing?  …haha, and yet we had no qualms about standing on the roof.

The “old house” was not our only fort, just the most popular.  We also had “the valley,” and old pig pen …the one where we lost the hammers and made Dad and Ross not too happy, we had forts in the mountains and forts in the straw stacks (remember picking buckets of carrots, who knew that 10 gallons of carrots was not a feasible lunch for 5 kids).   

P.S.  If any of you do have a pic of said house send it my way and we will get it attached to this post.  jami_c_hurst@hotmail.com

Do you miss it?

About a year after I left home, I received a letter from Utahna and Crystal containing pictures of them in their pipe moving garb with sarcastic notes attached.  I put them in my scrapbook and wrote my response to my sisters:

Written Summer 2003:

Do I miss it?  A few years ago the answer may have even surprised me... YES!  I miss most everything about it.  I miss getting out in the open and working, I miss getting on the back of a hay truck and throwing bales around, I miss the thinking time I had while milking the cows, I even miss moving lines once in a while (I know my biceps do anyway).  I don't think there is any work that gives more satisfaction than farming... there is a definite sense of satisfaction in this career.

Yes, I miss farming, but not nearly as badly as I miss farming with my Dad.  I miss that every day contact with my hero.  I miss talking to my best friend each day as we worked in the barn or the field.

Dad taught me so much on the farm.  He taught me to work hard and take pride in working hard.  One day I was particularly upset as we were hauling hay, it seemed everyone else was on the back of the trailer just riding around as Dad and I picked up all the bales.  I expressed my frustration to Dad and he turned to me and said, "Jami, take pride in kicking someone else's butt!"  Of course as I approached dating age he changed his story, "Jami, if you want to date any of these boys, you're going to have to stop out working them!"

I learned many gospel principle's while working on the farm.  Who knew the barn could be such a spiritual place?

I am so proud to be a "farm girl."  I am surprised every day at what those two little words mean to people.  It means I come from a good family; it means I know the value of a dollar; it means I am not afraid of working hard; it means I know how to be part of a team.

I miss it... and I know the two of you will too!

You can take the girl out of the country...

From Juel:

Wish I could write as Jami does, but guess you’re stuck with my style.  Right now my thoughts turn to each of those whom I have had the privilege of working with.  I truly did enjoy my time working with each of you and have many special memories that are near and dear to my heart.  There was a lot of hard manual labor done and with each of you the tasks became almost fun.

 I think we’ve all split our pants out and had to work through it.  Two I particularly remember, one was Jami, at the beginning of a hot hay hauling day and the second Crystal in the same situation.  I just remember that they both got lots of hay down their pants on those days, but neither shirked from their duties, embarrassed as they may have been.  When it had to be done they just did it.

Becky and Esther were two of the absolute best pipe movers.  They were kinda short and the barley kinda tall.  But that did not faze them one bit, even when they had to carry the pipe over their heads.  

Sara & Beth, many memories of them feeding in adverse weather; but with their great attitudes, they took a lot of crap in fun and never failed to give it right back with interest.

All of Ross's girls took their turn feeding calves, and I think they all drove truck for us at one time or another.

If any of you men or children want to know what made your wife or mother the wonderful strong devoted person they are.  The answer in large part is growing up in Juniper.  They always had it in them; they just got to exercise it.  And find out exactly what they were made of in a little patch of hallowed paradise we like to call Juniper.

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FYI, for anybody who has not had the privilege of splitting out their pants, it is not the hay going down your pants that is the problem... just sayin.  

P.S. I swear I split my pants out every day for a week that summer... good times.

A little lesson about thought...

From Crystal:

One summer, I was more often than not, in charge of the morning milking.  I was, therefore, the last to arrive at the fields to help with the hay hauling.  They always left a truck behind so that when I was finished I could drive it to the fields.  

One day as I was coming in, driving along some dirt tracks that go around the fields, I came upon a fairly good sized puddle, I could have driven around it easily, but my truck was big and I thought I could make it …I did not.

     

     Dad must have been watching me come in, cause it didn't take him long to arrive in the tractor to bail me out.  He didn't say a word, just started hooking up chains.  Unable to bear the silence anymore I said, “I’m sorry Dad.”  I will never forget his tone of voice as he replied, “I know, but you've all got to try it.”

     It occurs to me to wonder just how many times he has had to pull his kids out of the mud or snow, probably 50 times for me alone.  Thanks Dad.

From Jami:

If it makes you feel better Crys, I did it with a loaded truck! ;)

Juniper Transit Authority

From Juel:

HAY, anybody know how many people you can put in the front of Old Blue?

From Crystal:

Rides back home to the farm were often uncomfortable.  Getting there, there was plenty of room for all to ride in the cab or on the bed, but once the trucks were full we all had to fit somewhere.  At the end of one crop of hay we sent home a truck that was not quite full and Doug and I, just kids, were thrilled when Dad said that we could ride on the top.  Before taking off Dad reminded us again that before we crossed under the highway we needed to get in the hole.  I remember thinking, ‘well, we’re not stupid.’ 

Douglas and I sat at the front of the truck enjoying the breeze and talking and laughing.  We were completely distracted.  All the sudden Doug yelled something and laid on his back.  I looked forward to see a cement wall coming fast toward my face, mere feet away.  I laid back just in time and watched as the cement roof of the underpass sped past a few inches above the end of my nose.  We were just kids, I remember giggling with Douglas as we rode underneath and again as we recounted the story to my father, who must have been sick to the stomach.

I recently reminded my father of this story and mentioned that my memories were probably distorted and that the underpass was probably not as close to my face as I remember it being.  He told me that the reason we stack our trucks as high as we do is because we cannot fit one more row of bales on.  I don’t think that wall could have been more than 6 inches above us. 

(Editor's note: And they think farming is unsafe for children... pssshh) :)

From Jami:

While old blue is a fine choice in transportation.  The 10-wheeler offers more comfortable, more luxurious, more passenger area.  As a kid I loved to ride on the overshot with my little fingers curled around the front of the worn planks.  Clearly, there is more space when not loaded with 7 (right?) layers of hay, however I can assure you, this fine piece of antique farm machinery could haul just as many bodies from the field as it did to the field.  Seating configurations were creative to say the least.  

I recall one day in particular we were riding back from the flat, there must have been 10-12 passengers in this 3 passenger vehicle.  Dad drove, I was in the middle, and I believe Doug and Brad were in the cab with us.  I'm not exactly sure who all was with us that day (Joe, Sam, Aaron, Steve, Jim, John, seems like maybe Tim that day...anyway), but it seems like we had a passenger on each running board (possibly two), and 4-5 boys on the hood of the truck   What's more impressive is that Dad handled all 3 pedals himself-which was not always the case in a crowded truck...lol.  I think I was in charge of the stick shift... teamwork folks, teamwork.  

Leave a comment for all to enjoy... what are your most memorable "transportation" moments???

Also, if anyone has a pic of old blue, send 'er my way... I'd love to have a visual!

What's a mouses favorite game???

Hide and Squeak!!! 

From Crystal:

I was helping dad move some oat hay.  He was on the truck and I was on the stack throwing bales down to him.  Now, this was not a new stack of hay, in fact, it had been there so long now that it was totally infested with mice.  Each bale I moved sent another 10 or 15 mice scattering.  It was no surprise when I caught, out of the corner of my eye, a mouse running over my shoe.  It was a surprise, however, when I felt the pinching sensation of the little rat crawling up my right shin.  You may well believe that having a tiny ball of fur run up your legs would tickle a bit …it does not, you would be closer to the truth if you envisioned a very tiny crab in its place.  I dropped my bale and cupped my hands around my leg just below my knee and informed my father that I believed there to be a mouse in my pant leg.

“Well, do you want to drop them up there or down here?”  …we switched places; me doing a little hobble as I held my leg tight, trying to prevent the mouse from climbing any farther. 

Dad turned around giving me some privacy, but the beast was nowhere to be found.   I gave up the hunt, but just as Dad turned back around I felt the mouse nestled underneath my front left pocket.  Frustrated by this time and downright disgusted, I did not even give dad a chance to turn around again; I dropped my pants, grabbed the mouse with my now glove free hand and threw him hard.