As a naive young wife of a Connecticut farmer more than 40 years ago, I thought hay harvesting was mysterious. The farm men would become "possessed" in June when the hay was ready for the first cutting. It became an annual battle between man and the impending rain clouds. It was a highly pressured period of days from the time the silvery green grass, as high as my eyes, was cut, dried, raked, compacted into heavy rectangular bales, picked up, and then carefully put up in the large haymow barn. Despite my new grandmother-in-law's advice that I shouldn't take on any "farm jobs," I learned to drive the very big dump truck, ever so slowly, while the gang of strapping young men would toss hundreds of hay bales into the back hold. The next June, I learned how to drive a small tractor with a rake attachment, so that I could "ted" the hay, a fluffing process so the grass would dry thoroughly on all sides before being baled.
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