[Taken from, When Life Was Young, by Charles Asbury Stephens (October 21, 1844 – September 22, 1931), Many of Mr. Stephens’ most memorable stories concern five orphans of the Civil War who return to live with their grandparents on a farm in North Norway, Maine. The following story of haying is told by the youngest of those five.]
Part One
On this bright Monday morning of July, the hay-fields smiled, luxuriant, blooming with clover, herdsgrass, buttercup, daisy and timothy. There were several fields, sixty-five acres or more, altogether. What an expanse it looked to me! It was my first experience, but Addison and Halse had forewarned me that we would have it hot in haying. However I had already grown a little inured to the sun while hoeing corn during June, so didn’t suffer so much from the sun rays while haying.
One of the hired men was Elder Witham, who preached at the Chapel, and who was not above working with his hands to piece out his small salary. He came Sunday evening, and I did not suppose that he had come to work with us till the next morning, when, after prayers, he fetched his scythe and snath down from the wagon-house, and called on Halstead to turn the grindstone for him. I then learned that he had worked at haying for us three summers. The Elder was fifty or more, and, though well-tanned, had a semi-clerical appearance. He was austere in religious matters, and the hired men were careful what they said before him.
The other two men, who came after breakfast, were brothers, named Jim and Asa Doane.
In haying time we boys were called at half-past four every morning. It was our business to milk and do the barn chores before breakfast. Often, too, there would be a load of hay, drawn in the previous evening, to stow away, in addition to the chores.
Mowing machines and horse-rakes had not then come into general use. All the mowing was done with scythes, and the raking with hand rakes and “loafer” rakes. I was reckoned too young to mow with a scythe, but I had plenty to do, raking, spreading, and stowing the hay in the barn. Generally, all hands would be busy for three hours every afternoon, raking the grass which had been cut down in the forenoon. Gramp and the Elder commonly raked side by side, and often fell into argument on the subject of man’s free moral agency, on which they held somewhat diverse views. The second afternoon, Asa Doane maneuvered to get them both into a yellow jackets’ nest, which was under an old stump in the hay.
The Elder was just saying, “I tell you, Squire, man was designed for–” when a yellow jacket stung him on his neck, and he finished his sentence with a rather funny exclamation! Another insect punched Gramp at almost the same moment, and they had a lively time of it, brandishing their rakes, and throwing the hay about. The others raked on, laughing inwardly without seeming to notice their trouble.
But that night after supper, while we were grinding scythes, I overheard the Elder say in an undertone to Gramp, “Squire, when we were amongst those bees, this afternoon, I hope I didn’t say anything unbecoming a minister. I was a reckless young man once, Squire; and even now, when anything comes acrost me sudden, the old words are a-dancing at my tongue’s end before I know they are there. And if I did make a mistake,” he continued, “I want to make public confession of it before these young men.”
But the Squire had been too busy with his own bees to remember. So the matter passed, but the Elder felt uneasy about it, and watched our faces pretty sharply for a day or two.
The heat troubled me not a little, and I then knew no better than to drink inordinately of cold water. I would drink every five minutes when I could get where there was water, even after Gramp had pointed out to me the ill effects that would follow. But it seemed that I must drink, and the more I drank the more I wanted, till by Friday of that first week I was taken ill. Sharp pain is a severe yet often useful teacher. I had learned a lesson and Gram gave me some bits of snake-root to hold in my mouth and chew.
We drew in the hay with both oxen and horses. When the former were employed, they were yoked to a “rack,” set midway on the axle of two large wheels. The rack would carry a ton or more of hay. During the first week, they had several times set me to tread down the hay in the rack, but I made a very bad job for I didn’t know how to “lay the corners” of the load.
Finally, Gramp, observing my faults, climbed on the cart, and taking the fork, showed me patiently how to begin at first, and how to lay the hay out at the sides and ends of the rack, keeping the ends higher than the middle all the way up. He made it so plain to me that I took a liking to that part of the work. I could not of course handle the hay as well as a man, but I contrived to stow it quite well, for I had grasped the principle of loading and managed to lay a fairly presentable load. As a result I grew a little over-confident, and was inclined to boast of my skill and make somewhat rash statements as to the size of loads which I could lay. The others probably saw that I needed discipline. I must have been dull, or I should have been on my guard for set-backs from Halse, Addison, or the mischievous Doanes. When a boy’s head begins to grow large and his self-conceit to sprout, he is sometimes singularly blind to consequences.
Next time, the boy learns another lesson.
Sam Moore
