“Cross tie those bales or you’re going to lose the load!”
– Dick Heston (1933-2002)
Here is proof that I “ain’t right:” I loved to bale hay.
I remember when I started helping in the barn, and later, at age 12, when I moved to loading the wagon in the field, Dad would always holler at me to “cross tie” the bales as I stacked them. Two going one way, the next two on top of them perpendicular to the base layer; one length-wise in the middle with the same two-by-two configuration next to it. And so on…
I also remember that we had a hard and fast 60-bales-per-wagon limit, and that, if you cross-tied the bales, you didn’t even need a rack on the back of the wagon to hold the load in place. On the RARE occasion that we’d let an approaching thunderstorm force us to go to 64 or even 68, you could hear the wagon protesting under the load, and you could see the frown on Dad’s face.
Today, it matters less that the stack in the barn was stable or that the loads on the wagon were always solid and never too much for the running gear. What matters is that I understood, after some maturity settled in (I did say “some,” for those of you snickering out there), why he was adamant about why we finessed what, on the surface, looked like a “brute force” kind of job.
I remember the big factory workers and football players who came to help bale hay and who couldn’t do half the work a 12-year-old could because they tried to manhandle the bales. I remember the High School All-American linebacker who came to bale hay in short pants, and how he left within an hour.
Most of all, I remember that there was always a “why” behind what Dad tried to teach me, no matter how hard I wanted to focus on the “what.”
If you’re not sure of the “why” behind anything you’re doing, ask. If you don’t see the “why,” seek support in finding it. If the “why” doesn’t make sense to you, let’s talk about it….maybe you’re on to something.