Return to Emily's page

Return to BriarCroft Web Log Home Page

Lessons Learned in a Hayfield

We were blessed with ideal hay cutting weather this week--temps in the
80s to 90s, good warm breeze, and clear skies for a stretch of 6 days.
We have always grown our own hay for our Haflingers, with the knowledge
of their fertilizer recycled to the very fields that subsequently feed
them all winter. It has been a tradition as long as our children
remember-- in my pregnant days, I was relegated to driving, or rolling
bales into position, when the kids were pre-toddler, they were in back
packs on my back as I helped pick up bales as best I could. When the
kids were old enough to safely be beside me on the tractor or in the
truck, they rode with me, but then graduated to the wagon and eventually
to helping roll bales into position in the field, and finally to
actually buck the bales onto the wagon or, as strong teenages, to learn
ultimately to stack the load.

I've done all the different jobs over the years, but as my children have
gotten older and learned the various roles on a hay crew, they've
displaced me and taken over those jobs, and I watch gratefully as
someone else's younger back leans over to pick up those bales and
someone else's nose gets congested with grass pollen. There are
advantages to being "older" at times.

We had a particularly spectacular evening tonight in the field--the
Cascade mountain peaks--Mt. Baker and the Twin Sisters in relief in the
east with their snowy craggy outlines, the sun setting orange in the
west, casting a glow everywhere we looked, a cool breeze keeping us
comfortable, and the knowledge that our fields were going to feed our
Haflingers for yet another winter. The last two years, our hay was cut
at the wrong time--either too late and too ripe, or as the weather was
predicted to be clear, but it rained, hard, for several days on hay
already cut and on the ground. It rotted and was useless because of our
misjudgement, and just plain bad luck. So this year, having a dry, well
timed harvest was a blessing.

Here are the lessons learned:

It takes teamwork to make a haycrew function. There are different jobs,
some simpler, some more complex, but all crucial to the eventual goal of
getting the hay safely in the barn. There is needed a team
leader--someone who directs individuals to the different jobs, and
rotates them as needed to rest the most heavy worked, or cool off the
most hot, or teach a new skill to someone who has yet to learn. Being
part of a hay crew means not whining, no matter how itchy, sweaty and
miserable you are, because you are safe in the knowledge that every one
else is just as itchy, sweaty and miserable as you are. You have to
communicate with each other--if the driver doesn't listen to the people
on the wagon, or the bale buckers don't communicate about who is going
to grab which bale, it is chaos. You can't slack off, because it is
immediately noticed by everyone else. And incompetence is noted too-
yet tolerated in the young and in the city people who don't know
better--so you spend a fair amount of time teaching others the job.

Stacking hay on the wagon is an example of a job that must be
learned--it is not intuitive. If done incorrectly, it can result in a
significant inconvenience (and possible danger) of a load tipping over
and off the wagon on the way to the barn. If done correctly, there is
nothing that can disturb that load--it is secure, and solid.

Why can't all organizations work like a hay crew? There are
senior members who know the territory, know the job, and have knowledge
to share, but must give way to the next generation as they learn the
task. To teach what they know, the leader must have patience and
tolerance for the mistakes of others, but can only tolerate the minor
mistakes because allowing a big mistake can result in someone getting
hurt. The younger people on the crew are the worker bees, always
moving, and doing, and communicating. They need to listen, listen,
listen. They need to respect the knowledge of the crew leaders, and
learn from it, or they may build something that will topple with the
first bump in the field.

Something else happens with a haycrew. They become, for a short time,
best friends, in their shared responsibilities. They laugh alot and
commiserate and tell stories. They share old war stories about previous
haying years. They eat a great meal together and drink way too much
lemonade and agree that this is one of the best ways to spend a summer
evening. They look at each others' dusty faces and grass strewn clothes
and hair and know they all look alike for a few hours. And if they are
lucky, they may get paid, but usually they don't--they are doing it
because it is an adventure, and it is a shared experience and goal with
other human beings.

This is how I've felt about some organizations I belong to, which try as they
might to work in a unified way as a team, but seem to keep building a stack
of bales that falls with the slightest bump in the road, because people
are not cooperating, nor listening to each other, nor working together
to make it as solid and secure as possible.

There are people who never want to relinquish their role as crew
leader, never share what they know with the younger folks, and there are
folks who don't pull their weight,--show up only for the meal, or to
take home the hay. There are even people who are willing to shove other
people off the wagon, not caring if it hurts, or where they might
land--possibly under the wheels.

We have to work this through together, or the load will fall, the hay
will spoil, the people will argue and point fingers and nothing will be
accomplished. We have a choice of how we are involved--we've always had
a choice. If we don't show up to do what's needed to bring in the hay,
it'll rot on the ground for sure.

A little hay fable for your musing,

Emily from BriarCroft

emily@briarcroft.com