bailing hats

I'm what the old timers might call a 'gentleman farmer'.   I've got the acreage, the tractor and bib overalls... but what I'm lacking is experience.  I've spent too many years with a guitar or laptop in my hands instead of pitch fork or a garden rake.  Building brands instead of branding cows.  

But I do love it.  Farming.  So did my bride.  It's part of why we live where we live and make the decisions we make.  Because there's a big difference between singing about the good life and actually living it. 

I have more time on my hands these days.  And less in some ways, with little Indy.  And I'm trying to spend more of that time doing the things I want to do... 


The hay in the back field behind the cemetery was needing cut and bailed one more time before winter and since I had Tuesday afternoon open, with nothing on my plate... I put my cowboy hat on and jumped up on the tractor.  And then I proceeded to make a gazillion laps around the field - turning the tall, lush grass in front of me into one long pile of hay - sorta like peeling an apple in one strand with a pocket knife.  

I was feeling pretty good about myself, sitting up there on that New Holland... admiring the farmhouse in front of me and the pretty row of fresh-cut hay behind me...


All was going well until the sun ducked behind a cloud and a big gust of wind proceeded to take my newfound farming swagger and my best straw Resistol cowboy hat and run them both through the hay-bine machine that I was pulling behind the tractor.  

At first, I had thought that maybe it'd just blown off to the side and I could just pick it up on my next lap around the field, until I got to the spot where I'd lost it... 


When I found my hat... it, along with my manly pride ...was pretty bent out of shape.


Luckily though, no one was around to see it happen but me.

And you...


Did I mention that I'm a gentleman farmer?