A couple weeks ago when I wrote about life on the dairy farm, I left out the part about having to drive the tractor – I think I left it out conveniently. While I routinely drove the lawn mower, I never had to drive the tractor until one year that my father-in-law was incapacitated. He was taking dialysis treatments. He was not himself except about one day a week.

By then the children were gone, living in different cities to attend college.

My husband still had the cows and he had hay to take in. He did not ask me if I could run the tractor, he just sort of assumed that I could do it.

The reason that I steered clear of the hayfield was that I have allergies – to all of the stuff outdoors. I tried to help him before but just could not do it. I got stuffed up almost instantly and began to sneeze. This time he was desperate. There was no one else to drive so I was just going to have to grin and bear it.

He explained how the pedals worked and we were off around the field. He had done all of the mowing and raking on his own. He told me when I came to a woodchuck hole I was to stop. He did not want me going through that area because there was a danger of the baler and knotter breaking.

I did enjoy the drive because of all of the birds that I saw along the way. When I came to the first woodchuck hole I stopped. Dick jumped off the hay wagon and got on the tractor. He expertly guided the baler through the spot.

Then, he was right back on the wagon. A few trips around the field and I had the hang of it. It was a slow process, but the hay was getting baled and it was being loaded on the wagon.

The worst part was that grandpa was on the sidelines watching the whole process. I knew that he wished he could be part of the haying crew, but he could not.

Lucky for me that was the tail end of the haying. I only had to drive a couple times. I am sure my husband was not happy with the arrangement either.

Actually, my children never got to drive the tractor until they were quite old. That was Grandpa’s job. I recall that my son wanted to drive, but he did not want to displace his grandfather.

It was a very long day. We got the hay in without getting it wet, but it was a long tiring day. I was really glad I did not have to drive after that.

During the haying season we always had a lot of kids around. Last week one of our former hayers stopped to pay me a visit. I live in his grandparents’ house. He remembered the big meals. He also remembered bringing his guitar up to play for us. Could those kids ever eat! If I had a big piece of meat, I always held some back so that I could serve sandwiches the next day. Feeding was part of their pay and they enjoyed it. Thankfully, food was not as expensive in those days!

The goal was always to be done with first cut haying by the 4th of July. That happened once in a while, but not all the time. We seldom did anything special on the 4th of July because we were usually haying. There were two farms to be done and that took a lot of time.

Often, we celebrated Grandma’s birthday that day. Her birthday was just a couple days later. Usually, we had a picnic supper with everyone around.

I think the boys liked the challenge of throwing the hay into the mow. Jill helped and that was an incentive for them – to see if they could outdo her. I am proud to say, she held her own.

Those last few years were so tough. With the children gone, labor was an issue. There were never enough bodies to get the job done. We never had one of those fancy balers that made the big bales.

Milking was hard too. Dick was on his own. He worked hard. He worked long hours, too. He tried to cut back, but taking care of the heifers was just as much of a job. He still had to be there. Although he no longer had to milk cows it was still labor intensive. We were not free to go anywhere.

The last couple years Dick was free to go with me. In fact, he was the one when I got home who said, “Let’s go!” I had a hard time getting all of my work done, but somehow, I managed. I waited for this moment for thirty-five years so I was not going to blow it. We went down to see Barb and Jack. We visited with Diedra and Don. We went to fair board. That was the only places he would go. When he died and I was on my own I kept visiting those same people. That got me out of the house. That meant I had someone to visit with. Life as a widow can be very lonesome because you miss that person to talk to.

Ann Swanson writes from her home in Russell, Pa. Contact at hickoryheights1@verizon.net.