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by leaping across to the hillside while the wagon was going over. The wagon was badly damaged. I cannot recall who was with me on that occasion. At that tine 1 ;;as about ten years old and had earned the reputation of being a poor driver. All the hay used for feeding the animals was hauled from the field and stacked at our home yard in town. The old wheel brought back pleasant memor- ies of haying times. Only a fev; paces from it was a rennant of the lonc-ago discarded mowing machine. It still had the remains of some heavy wire ray brother Lawrence and I placed to make some crude repairs on a broken spring. Drawn by a team of horses, I recall taking the mower into the field to cut hay on numerous occasions after sharpening the cutting blades on an old grind-stone owned by Uncle 'n'ales, that we treadled with our feet while holding the blade against the rotating stone. As I began cutting the hay, it was fascinating to circle the field with the mowing machine and see the long stems laid low with a clickety-click of the mowing blades, repeating- the rounds again and again as the new-aown path grew wider. One never knew what to expect, as on one occasion, I recall a mother pheasant was setting on her ten freckled, brown-spotted eggs. Suddenly she ran out into the mowed area, thinking to draw away harm. I drew the horses to a sudden stop. Immediately I discovered the nest. A few nore feet of cutting would have caused the nest and eggs to be destroyed. Then starting the horses, I swerved from the course and left a small cluster of standing hay to shade the nest for the mother bird to return to hatch out her precious family. Because of the hot summer sun, the leaves would soon wilt and fall from the stems of hay. To prevent this from happening, the hay had to be raked only a few hours after cutting. We owned an old horse-drawn, hand-operated hay rake that was used to rake the hay into rows. By using a pitchfork, I then formed the 57 |
