The hay was wet and heavy. Waves of rain where on the horizon, swooning like a black impenetrable swarm of bees. “Yes” My mind suggested, “I can get the day off..”But instead, in spite of equipment failure and afoot of mud as far as the eye could see this black wave of rain and force was not meant to provide “a day off.”
To stay and help for this particular adventure was going to be more in the line of what my grandfather called most of my friends growing up- “pockets” – They just stood around with their hands in their pockets. I was to be “pockets” for a day I guess. Now see, I was an aggressive employee, and standing around was so hard. Don’t worry I am lazy, but I might as well be warm and sleeping. This man who I was to “stay and help” was not my grandfather. He was my “boss”.
The swather had gathered what we called in the haying and bailing business a “slug”. So huge was this waded soaked grass and mud that it had a depth of about 7 feet deep and at least 2.5’ thick, and about a 7’ wide span. I had not been paying attention while a huge storm came up and dumped its guts, causing my inexperience of trying to keep on trying and the wet grass to be a “perfect storm” for a perfect “slug.”
I grabbed the thermos and poured a cup of coffee for my boss and passed it to him in a water bottle cut in half with sludgy coffee-not hot. He sipped on it and stared at the mess. I also had tried to “fix” this by running a tow rope in and out of the grass, by chipping and cutting holes in this slug to pull bits and pieces of it off. It did not look as clever as it might sound.
“Why ..!! Do things like this happen!” He shouted. The canyons being too wet and cold to echo back. “Well” I ventured.. “um well things happen I guess because God has a better pla..” He looked at me as he started to dump the coffee on the teeth of the swather. “Things like this happen because.. your head is so far up your … that’s why.” He was spot on.
I took my hands out my pockets and got to work helping.