The Smell of Summer Hay

Back to the Farm - written by Davy Rasmussen

Song Lyrics
Even after I hit the brakes I can feel the tractor slide a little downhill. The bush-hog rotary mower spinning behind me just seems to help push me along. There is an extra heart beat or two that thumps through my sweaty shirt, but eventually the tires grip the earth and bring me and my Kubota to a stop. As I turn around to mow back up the hill, I inhale that wonderful smell of summer hay and can see me and Mr. Larry here some sixteen years ago when Sharon and I began our adventure here in the country.

Larry in the black hat, me in the red shirt 

Mr. Larry had an old Ford tractor that became one of my first class rooms. Our 85 acres joined his family farm and during the thirty years or so that our place was abandoned, his cattle and horses free ranged our hillsides. There was no such thing as fences. When we moved in we continued to let his livestock use our ponds and stay cool in the woods and in return, I got to ride as many horses as my butt could handle, got to use his tractor, became a cowboy and friends with one of the best men and teachers I have had the privilege of knowing. At first anytime I needed something done with the tractor he would just come up and do it for me, which was OK by me, because I knew that I would take so much longer to get something done. One day I was driving by and he waved me in with his two finger wave that meant "stop if you can". Just the pointer finger meant "hello", but the pointer and middle together always meant "would like to talk for a while if you can spare the time". He had some round hay bales that needed to be moved and though he could have done the job in twenty minutes himself with his eyes closed, he asked for my help so he could work with a young colt. He stayed close enough to talk me through the hydraulics and anytime I seemed to struggle getting a round bale on both the front forks as well as the back spear. I think I was actually his entertainment for the evening. Two hours later the hay was moved. By the end of our first summer here I was using his blue ford to grade our gravel road, move dirt and stack brush. We have about twenty acres that need to be mowed at least once a year and since the majority of our property is hillside, I never felt comfortable taking his tractor much past the bottoms where our farmhouse is. He respected my uneasiness and he and one of his sons would knock it out in about three hours or so.

 One day after his son left for college, he told me that he wouldn't have time to mow due to his other farm obligations, but said that if Ole Blue was down at the barn, I would be welcome to hook up the mower and take a stab at it. Well my first attempt ended quite quickly. I was driving up the gravel road from his place to ours, like I've done many times before. Unfortunately I got distracted by a deer running across the road and didn't turn the wheel in time and the next thing I knew I had one side of Ole Blue's front and rear tires in a four foot ditch. I struggled for an hour trying to get it out, but only made it worse. I eventually walked back with my head hung low and he pulled me out with one of his other tractors. Mr. Larry never let me forget that one. My second attempt a few weeks later was more successful and after eight hours, I had the hollow all cut. Well, almost all of it. My legs were so sore the next day from using the breaks and hitting the clutch to stop from running into trees and rock. There was one section though that I chickened out on. Mr. Larry laughed when I told him how the tractor started to slide and that I thought I saw my life pass before my eyes. The next day he was back up there and finished it up, though he saved the last two vertical strips for me. The school house door was back open and he taught me about how to work with gravity, how to use the bucket to help stop, how to lock one side of the brakes at a time, and when to turn the rotary mower off in the worst case. From that day on,  I was a country boy and have never looked back.

 I just finished washing off all the wild seeds and brush from the Kubota. The sun is casting that wonderful 7:30 PM golden glow on our barn. I can hear the crickets and the frogs beginning their evening serenade. I walk back towards the farmhouse and if I could jump to the side and click the heels of my boots together I surely would.