Hobo Jungle
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P&R Pete
Got the hay in no problem the other day, working in the hot sun and stiff cool breeze with the clanking of the elevator chain, hum of the motor, and soft scraping of bale against rail as they climbed into the loft, scuff and tromp of boots on wooden floor, the constant swirl of chaff airborne, the smell of cut hay, the soft talk and laughter of kids gathered to watch, and the stretch and pull of every muscle as the bale-twine is grabbed and the bales carried and set into place.
But the particular fun for me is after the work is done and the loose hay is swept up and the truck chains are re-secured with a ‘come-along’, when the beer comes out and the stories begin, because then is when I get my history lessons. These guys remember the days before balers, when the hay laid out in windrows was gathered by rotating tines on an articulated arm behind a long wagon, and when the tines got full they’d kick a trip-lever, and the tines would swing up over the wagon and drop the hay, where men riding the wagon with pitchforks would build the hay into carefully crafted mounds, until the tines swung up again. Once back to the yard, the wagon would be backed into the barn. From there, a large ‘grappling’-fork would descend from the loft and jaw-like, would lift a bundle of loose hay, and with a track in the loft and pulleys to a horse outside, the fork would be lifted, positioned, and a catch released with a tug on a rope to drop the hay in the loft. Bob, being young, had the horse duty, and if he took the horse a few feet too far, he said there’d commence a mad hysterical hollerin’ in the barn and yells of “Whoa…WHOA!!”, and he laughed in the remembering.
But the stories were rolling, and they got to talking about how life was back then, the work, the equipment, the fun, the unbelievable meals in pre-cholesterol pre-sodium days, and how you could eat all you want but you’d better by-God finish everything on your plate, and how everyone would gather on the porch when a thunderstorm came through, not to enjoy the rain but to be ready to spring into action if lightning hit any of the buildings. And about Grandpa’s barrel of hard cider in the barn, and after the work was done, everybody got to drink one cupful.
This last, of course, got me to remembering how the horses ambled into the barn to watch as the bales were moved. For them, it must have been similar to the salivating excitement Jon feels when the weekly beer truck pulls up in front of his house, and the workers start loading up their hand-trucks!!
But the particular fun for me is after the work is done and the loose hay is swept up and the truck chains are re-secured with a ‘come-along’, when the beer comes out and the stories begin, because then is when I get my history lessons. These guys remember the days before balers, when the hay laid out in windrows was gathered by rotating tines on an articulated arm behind a long wagon, and when the tines got full they’d kick a trip-lever, and the tines would swing up over the wagon and drop the hay, where men riding the wagon with pitchforks would build the hay into carefully crafted mounds, until the tines swung up again. Once back to the yard, the wagon would be backed into the barn. From there, a large ‘grappling’-fork would descend from the loft and jaw-like, would lift a bundle of loose hay, and with a track in the loft and pulleys to a horse outside, the fork would be lifted, positioned, and a catch released with a tug on a rope to drop the hay in the loft. Bob, being young, had the horse duty, and if he took the horse a few feet too far, he said there’d commence a mad hysterical hollerin’ in the barn and yells of “Whoa…WHOA!!”, and he laughed in the remembering.
But the stories were rolling, and they got to talking about how life was back then, the work, the equipment, the fun, the unbelievable meals in pre-cholesterol pre-sodium days, and how you could eat all you want but you’d better by-God finish everything on your plate, and how everyone would gather on the porch when a thunderstorm came through, not to enjoy the rain but to be ready to spring into action if lightning hit any of the buildings. And about Grandpa’s barrel of hard cider in the barn, and after the work was done, everybody got to drink one cupful.
This last, of course, got me to remembering how the horses ambled into the barn to watch as the bales were moved. For them, it must have been similar to the salivating excitement Jon feels when the weekly beer truck pulls up in front of his house, and the workers start loading up their hand-trucks!!
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P&R Pete
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P&R Pete
Hev, next time we go over, I'll bring my Harley and take it around the track! LOL
It's a rural track between Orangeville and Berwick.
www.evansvilleraceway.com
It's changing ownership, so the website ain't nothing much, yet.
Jon, thanks!
And to think, I just promised to quit gumming up the Jungle with pictures.
It's a big thrill for Aaron, though.
It's a rural track between Orangeville and Berwick.
www.evansvilleraceway.com
It's changing ownership, so the website ain't nothing much, yet.
Jon, thanks!
And to think, I just promised to quit gumming up the Jungle with pictures.
It's a big thrill for Aaron, though.
Well since everyone having beer and everything I went to a party tonight and was drinking ...................
and then I switched to my Captain Morgan and all of a sudden I couldn't keep the ladies off me. It must be the arm thing that excites them..................
I drank one for all you Bo's..........
And Jon...............10-4 on the 41 chevy Pick-um-Truck.......
Pete.............I'm gonna hold on takin' the harley to the track now...........
hev
and then I switched to my Captain Morgan and all of a sudden I couldn't keep the ladies off me. It must be the arm thing that excites them..................
I drank one for all you Bo's..........
And Jon...............10-4 on the 41 chevy Pick-um-Truck.......
Pete.............I'm gonna hold on takin' the harley to the track now...........
hev
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