A stately tree dominates the yard of this farm complex. |
On Saturday morning we headed out into the chill air and drove to a farm in Watertown to pick up the few bales our capped truck can carry. The sky was a deep, clear blue in color. It made a lovely backdrop for the farm while we waited to meet up with the farmer.
He, too, stores his square bales in closed trailers. The roll-up door on the trailer we visited was frozen shut when he arrived. I doubt I could have convinced it to move, but Clint just rattled the door a few times then heaved it open. (We fondly remember the strength of our younger adulthood.)
His mixed grass hay is somewhat loosely baled and quite fine. The strings are tight enough that we cut them more often than just "springing" the bales open. When loosed, the grass is delectably fine. The flakes come apart readily, spreading out to be eaten. Our quadrupeds burned through the first load quickly, one that our operations manager obtained midweek, and were eager for more--necessitating a trip on Saturday.
Next time we'll take our little rattletrap farm pickup with its little trailer. With its open bed, we should be able to carry more hay in one trip.
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