Sitting up on the cart of a tractor, hay bales stacked 6 rows high, the baler is pumping it’s load out faster than we can stack them.
I climb up on top of the finished rows to help stack the next one.
In that July sun, moving 40-50 pound hay bales, I actually feel good about myself.
Yeah, for the first time in a few weeks, I feel useful, like I have some purpose.
Some purpose other than feeling like crap, and thinking “yeah, Mike is the enemy once again”.
My boss says to me, “It only takes one haying to figure out what you don’t want to do in life”, I tell her I like it a lot to be honest.
We have an estimated 1100 bales of hay in the field.
That’s 1100 bales, each weighing 40-50 pounds.
1100 bales of forget it and move the hell on.
Somehow, I do move on.
My troubles get lost somewhere in hay, sweat, and people who actually think I’m useful.
Yeah, and for some reason, I think those hay bales are better psychologists than anyone else ever will be.