Today we baled and stacked 300 bales of hay. It was a bit of a family affair, Mum always at the ready with a cuppa and a scone, Dad,76 with one kidney and some dodgy pipe work happy to get on an ancient Fergy tractor and haul it around the paddock that has some tight corners. We started the job yesterday in 29 degrees - today was aslightly cooler but sticky 27 degrees uncomfortable.
And then there is the Rock who has a passion for doing things the old way which means using old stuff. Some of it 30 - 50 years old. We had our moments - the Holland Baler busted its boiler a couple of times but the Rock , as he almost always does , fixed it. And the Hay conveyor chewed bales for a while till we worked out a bulging guiding rod was the culprit it was fixed in a paddock moment with the most intricate of tools - a sledgehammer. Two bangs and dang if it didn't slide the bales up like butter.
Son Matthew joined us for the last round of the paddock so there were three generations of Campbells outstanding in their field. It also meant the oldest skited to the youngest by ripping round the paddock only to be sworn at to slow down. Dad might want to do a lot of things at his age but apparently driving a 62 bedford truck scooping up hay sedately is not one of them.
The bales were neatly stacked in our shed - almost all of them - a mate took about 60 straight from the paddock for her stock.
As I sit here typing this , Im still feeling the scratch of a lonely grass wand on my slightly less ample arse but no one stirs.
Asleep they are - dreaming of big bales and noisy machines, dust and a very tidy stack, a cleansing shower and the smell of Mums fresh scones and my strawberry preserves from the house and a cold beer.