“Haytime heat” |
| Posted: 01 Aug 2010 06:41 AM PDT Thursday July 29, 2010 Joe Bushika We are in a period of time that each year is generally known as "dog days." Falling between late July and early September, they are usually the hottest, most sultry days of summer. While the actual dates may vary from region to region depending on latitude, it is a time that is usually associated with hot or stagnant weather that is marked by very slow movement or progress. The name comes from the ancient belief that Sirius, also called the dog star, was somehow responsible for the hot weather. While I have witnessed some very hot days during the month of August, they are usually very short lived, as the cool nights and mornings in this region of the country bring to our attention that summer is waning, and the shortening of our days is a harbinger of what awaits us in the coming months. For me "dog days" are the prelude to autumn, which is my favorite time of the year. From September through Christmas, I thoroughly enjoy the changes in our seasons and weather. But let us not rush into autumn just yet. We still have plenty of summer left to enjoy, and for those of you haven't yet taken a vacation, you'd better hop to it! In a few short weeks the kiddies will be back in school, and it will be nose to the grindstone time again, as you strive to provide all the necessities that your family expects and deserves. When I was a boy on the farm, July and August were "haying months," and lacking the machinery that today's modern farmers employ, most everything was performed by hand or with a minimum of crude machinery. My dad had a one-horse mowing machine, which was brutal on the horse; and what today, would take a few hours or a day at most to perform, then took a couple of days.The part I hated most was stashing the hay away in the hay mow. There was no such luxury as a baler in those days, and after raking the hay fields into what we called windrows, it was tossed loosely onto a wagon and transported to the barn. My dad's hay loft was on the upper floor of the barn, and the hay had to be handed upward with a pitchfork from the wagon through an open door, where it was then received by someone in the barn and stashed as far away as possible into the far recesses of the barn. It was a brutally hot job, with the hay chaff sticking to one's sweaty body, making it a most itchy and uncomfortable experience. Once the hay was stashed away, dad would let us head for the swimming hole where we luxuriated for hours, washing away the dust, grime and sweat from our ordeal of haying. I couldn't have realized at the time the importance of providing hay for our animals, but dad knew that without the benefit of our cows providing milk and beef we might not survive. Though I was raised on a farm and know full well that during those early years it was perhaps the only reason that my siblings and I were able to grow up healthy and strong, there are not many fond memories for me of that time. I did what I had to do, and depended on the wisdom and fortitude of my parents who struggled to raise a large family during a very difficult time. But, if I never see another cow or chicken it will suit me just fine. Joe Bushika lives in Stamford. Five Filters featured article: "Peace Envoy" Blair Gets an Easy Ride in the Independent. Available tools: PDF Newspaper, Full Text RSS, Term Extraction. |
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