Almost all the hay that I harvest each year is grass hay. I do, however, maintain a small field of alfalfa for sentimental reasons. You see, when I was a youngster, my father always raised some of the best alfalfa in the county and when times were lean, he could always sell a few bales to help make ends meet. Dad always said, “Good hay in the barn is like money in the bank.” He would also tell me that when we were sweating to death in the creek bottom during the summer harvest of that same hay, but it didn’t seem as prophetic as when we were selling it out of the barn during the cold of the winter.
After Dad passed away, I planted my first field of alfalfa. It’s a lot of expense and hard work, but I was surprised at the satisfaction I got from cutting, raking and baling really high-quality hay. Even though I rarely feed alfalfa to my own livestock, I continue to raise the crop and sell it out of the barn (mostly in small quantities) to horse, sheep and goat farmers who are willing to pay the price for high-quality hay. It helps make ends meet and the “retail” experience has been an eye-opener.
Last winter, on one of the coldest nights of the year, one of my regular horse owners called me at 9 p.m. on a Friday night to see if he could purchase some hay. He sounded desperate because he was completely out of hay and the weather forecast was for ice and snow to move in the next day. Never wanting to miss a sale, I agreed to meet him at my hay barn in 45 minutes. I showed up on time to help him load his pickup truck with the high-dollar forage. As I started throwing bales up on his truck, he hollered that he only needed THREE bales. I could only conclude that he had sold some horses, didn’t expect the weatherman to be right again or he was nearly broke. I suspect the latter.
I could write a book on the peculiarities of these cottage farmers buying hay. From inspecting each bale to search for blister beetles, to having to guarantee there was not a stem of Johnson Grass in the hay for fear of irritating the stomach lining of their prized horse (I didn’t tell them that Dad used to feed our draft horses pure Johnson Grass hay all winter long). But, a sale is a sale, so I try to oblige every customer and treat them the same whether they buy a hundred bales – or just three.
But, last week’s sale was definitely unique. A gentleman, to whom I’ve been selling big, round bales of alfalfa for the past year (one at a time, I might add) wanted to know if I’d deliver them to his farm if he bought a trailer load. After asking him where he lived, I agreed to deliver him a trailer load at no charge. It was an easy decision because he and his family are wonderful people – and he always pays in cash. We agreed on the day of delivery and I asked, “You do have a tractor to unload, don’t you?” He assured me that he did, indeed, own an old tractor, but he didn’t have a front-end loader. He quickly added that he was “fairly sure” that a bale spike on his three-point lift would do the trick – if I could just bring the bale spike with me. I agreed to that.
Just for my own peace of mind on the day I loaded the trailer, I backed up to the flat-bed with my own tractor and decided that the lift did go that high. He probably wouldn’t be able to ”lift” the bales off the trailer, but I was certain he would be able to spear the bales and “slide” them off.
The dirt road to his little farm reminded me of where I had grown up, as I followed the course of a small creek all along the way. When I pulled in the driveway, the hay-buyer greeted me and proceeded to drive his 1950-something tractor over to attach my bale spike. “Raise your lift and let’s see if it’s going to be high enough,” I implored.
“It IS raised,” he replied, as the tip of the bale spear was perfectly even with the top of my tire on the gooseneck flatbed.
In the stifling heat and humidity of an August afternoon, the hay buyer’s 12- and 16-year-old sons and I proceeded to unload a trailer load of round bales BY HAND! There wasn’t a dry thread of clothing on any of the three of us when finished, and this old man felt like he had just put 500 square bales in the loft of his youth. But, true to form, the buyer expressed his thanks, apologized for his tractor lift, and paid with cash.
As I drove away, with the air conditioner on high and gasping for my next breath, my father’s words echoed in my head, “Hay in the barn is like money in the bank.” And I smiled.
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to www.ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
