I wake at dawn, dress quickly, set coffee to brew, and race outside with my camera.
Jeff, our farmer-neighbor/church-brother/friend, is tedding straight, fat, fescue windrows into a thin carpet of hay to dry for baling. Again and again he drives into the sunrise. I want to try to capture the beauty and hope of work that begins before dawn and depends on God’s timing for success.
After only a few minutes, however, I am surprised by what I “see.” I lower my camera to look through the lens of my memory at a summer from decades ago.
~~~
It’s not Jeff, anymore, atop his big International 1466, but Grandpa, cutting red clover with a sickle mower on his much smaller International Farmall Cub.
I blink and “see” men in caps and straw hats and long-sleeved, faded chambray shirts. One drives a tractor with a small baler. Another follows with a tractor and hay wagon. Two men lift the heavy, sweet-smelling bales from the field and toss them up to the wagon with ease. One man on the wagon stacks the bales securely for the trip to the barn.
I look over my shoulder to the backyard and there, in my memory, I see those same five men breaking for lunch on the lawn in the shade of the apple tree. Their hats are on the ground beside them; their foreheads pale over sun-leathered faces. They eat sandwiches and drink gallons of iced tea from jewel-toned metal “glasses.” Dessert is a generous slice of one of Grandma’s apple pies baked the day before. Easy laughter rises over the low rumble of their conversation.
~~~
Jeff finishes the small field and heads to what we still call “the pasture” even though Grandpa’s ponies are long gone and we haven’t had horses on it in years.
I climb steps to the front porch for a better view of curving windrows on the pasture’s gentle slopes.
But my heart and my mind’s eye remain decades in the past, and I lower my camera again to better “see.”
~~~
A six or seven-year-old me is hanging on the hinge-end of the gate and swatting at lazy flies. My little brother and I are jockeying over who will open the gate for the hay wagon and who will close it quickly behind so the horses can’t wander out. The final bale has been picked up, and we are fussy in our eagerness.
Because… when the last load is not stacked too tall, Grandpa lets us ride it all the way to the barn.
And, the load heading toward us is stacked only two bales high.
My brother unlatches the gate and holds it open until the tractor and wagon are all the way through and waiting. I close and latch the gate, run to Grandpa, and raise my arms so he can lift me to join Don on the bales. Grandpa points to the middle and gives strict instructions to hold tight to the twine and to stay put until the tractor is completely shut down at the barn.
Clinging to our scratchy perch, we grin at each other and talk about how different everything looks from so high up! At the barn we watch from the feed trough as the farmers toss and stack those bales all over again – this time in the stifling, dusty haze of the barn. We watch, my brother and I, and we plan for tomorrow when we will climb and tumble across those bales, fighting the bad guys from our favorite scenes of Gunsmoke and Bonanza.
~~~
Jeff finishes the pasture and rumbles by on his way to another field. I shut my camera down and wave. I should head inside to do a load of laundry, but I’m not quite ready to leave the cool of my porch or the warmth of the memories made here with Grandpa when it was his porch overlooking his pasture and his fields.
The birds are singing. The breeze is light, and the air is soft. It’s a perfect morning to sit for a while with the happy memories that spilled out from unwrapping – of all things – the gift of a tractor rumbling into the sunrise.
~~~
Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee. Take my moments and my days; let them flow in ceaseless praise. –Frances R. Havergal, Lutheran Service Book Hymn #783
Thank You, Lord, for the gift of our happy memories and for the gift of time to savor them. Give us eyes to see the beauty of our days and hearts to praise You for them. Amen
20 Responses
Your childhood memories are so beautiful!!! Thanks for sharing them. I could picture you and Don on that hay wagon. How wonderful God made us to be able to retain memories our entire life.
Thank you, Diann! I bet you have more than a few memories of your own of hay baling season with your dad and uncles and big brothers.
Being able to remember is truly one of God’s gifts.
Take care.
Deb
Deb,
This is just delightful to read!! I have always loved the country and those fields by you. I remember some of dad’s stories about reaping hay and my granddad’s steam engine. He talked about bringing hot coffee out to grandpa in the fields, even on the hottest of days. I still remember your grandpa and grandma and of course the horses. Thanks for sharing your beautiful memories.
By the way, we just had a visitor to our house. He was the previous owner and sold it to Rich about 25 years ago. It was originally his grandparents house. He got the full walk through and was so delighted to see the house and how we had taken care of it, preserving some of the old details. He was tickled to still smell grandma’s house when he walked in the front door. Memories are so precious!
Oh wow! I’ve not heard about the steam engines, but I have seen old pictures of men in the fields here throwing loose hay on a wagon. We’re going to have to get together with Aunt Pearl and some old family albums some time! I love the story about hot coffee in the summertime! Dad used to say it cooled him off because it made him sweat! Ha! But, I can’t imagine drinking it while baling hay!
What a treat for the original owner of your home AND for you to share with him. YES! Smelling like Grandpa’s! When the heat and humidity is just right, I can smell “Grandma and Grandpa’s house” in the original ceiling wood on the back porch. I love it! Thank you for reminding me of that!
Precious memories, indeed.
Take care.
Deb
I can smell the straw and feel the heat from the summer sun. What delight! What simple joy! Love all around us. We were just talking about those jewel tone, sweating glasses of everyone’s grandma ❤️ Thank You, Father, for your gifts to Deb that become gifts to us.
Thank you, Shelley! What fun that you were just talking about those “glasses!” Did we call them “glasses” then, even if they were metal? I can’t remember that. Thank you for sharing and for considering the shared gifts from God’s hands through us.
Take care.
Deb
Those beautiful memories of life on a farm! Thanks for the memories, Deb!
Glad to bring back some fun memories for you, Paulette. I’ve been revisiting lots of memories made at Grandpa and Grandma’s lately.
Take care.
Deb
Such wonderful memories!
I remember sitting on our porch when I was a girl of 10 or so and brushing my grandmother”s hair. It was so long, way down her back, and such a beautiful silver color! I would braid it and then it would get wrapped around in a circle braid on the back of her head. Now I brush my silver hair and remember doing Grandma’s hair such a long, long time ago. I also see my mom’s silver hair in my reflection in the mirror. Memories!!!
Oh, Linda! What a beautiful memory! That brought tears to my eyes! Thank you for sharing that. Could your grandma have known that such a simple experience as letting you comb and braid her hair would be such a wonderful memory all these years later…
Take care.
Deb
Your writings are so amazing, I find myself right there next to you, enjoying your memories as well as my own. Don’t ever stop writing or sharing God’s Word with us. You are a true blessing.
Thank you, Kim, for your kind words. I am glad that my happy memories triggered some of your own.
It is truly a blessing to not only have such memories, but also to be able to share them with Grandma and Grandpa’s great-great-grandchildren while we sit on the same porch where my memories were made so long ago.
Take care.
Deb
I remember bucking bales and working on the farm with my grandparents. They also had animals to take care of. Memory’s are the best thing in life.
Oh yes! The animals! Robin, you sent my memories off in a whole ‘nother direction by mentioning the animals! Ha! Thank you!
Grandpa’s was a very small farm. It wasn’t his sole income so there were never herds of cattle – just a few chickens, calves, horses, and ponies. But, they generated many – mostly – good memories. (I hated the rooster!)
You bucked hay bales?! I’m impressed! Even when I was old enough to actually help bale hay, I was too much of a weakling to get more than a few bales picked up and thrown on a wagon. I was relegated to sandwich and lemonade duty!
Memories truly are a wonderful thing.
Take care.
Deb
Memories growing up in the country are a true treasure. There is nothing so sweet!!
Time changes everything except memories..
Thanks for sharing.
Yes, Glenda, those memories of ours are a treasure! Sometimes I think time does change memories, though. Somehow time has softened the edges of some of my hard memories and made the good ones a little sweeter every year 😉
Take care.
Deb
What precious gifts are our memories. Thanks for sharing a few of yours.
Those memories are, indeed, precious gifts, Mary!
Take care.
Deb
At this memory I doubt I was born yet but I DO remember many hay balings after. I learned to love summer sausage with grape jelly sandwiches and YES, coffee with dessert. 🙂 Love this Deb.
Yes, if you were around that summer, you were only months old! Oh yes! Coffee with dessert! No matter what time of day or how hot the weather, coffee with sweet treats is a must! Thank you, Grandpa!
I’m glad the memories made you smile, too, Patty.
Take care.
Deb