Hay bales are not particularly sophisticated devices.    A bunch of mostly-dried plant material, scooped up and compressed into a brick, and tied up with some rough twine.     There are probably few items in the world that are less inspired or impressive.     However, despite its simplistic nature, it’s changed little over time because it gets the job done.  The bales get stacked, the animals get fed, and everyone’s happy (except, maybe, the hay itself).

Sometimes simplicity is the best solution in the long run.

I come from a long line of very down-to-earth farmers on both sides of the family.   I was born and raised riding across fields, hearing the squeal of pigs and lowing of cows in the near distance, and the various smells of the seasons drifting across the farm (some of them more pungent than others, of course).   While I didn’t choose the profession for myself, it still runs in my blood as a vocation that involves good, honest hard work, feeling independent and productive, and good people.

The farmers in my family are a resourceful bunch.   That is not to say that they are stingy or tight; if equipment is broken and truly needs replacement, something shiny will be soon to follow, much to the heartburn of their banker.    But they have never been adverse to using baling twine, fence wire, duct tape, or a few well-placed bolts and screws to bring the foundering building or machine back into usable service.

Last night I helped my father to unload 3 racks (~300 bales) worth of hay into his barn by means of a chain-driven conveyor that ran from the rack to the haymow.      This we do to prevent having to toss (yes, toss) all of these upward into the gaping door, a process I am rather unfond of, especially when I’m helping to do it.     About halfway into the first rack the damned thing up and broke, the chain flailing as the motor tried to move it without a top sprocket  to rotate around.    I lept from the rack and yanked apart the cord and extension and then waited as Dad gave it a look.

The conveyor is old — color: rust;  brand:  unknown;  volume:  loud;  default sound effect:  squeal.     But it works very well when it doesn’t break, so we had a vested interest in fixing it.   Plus, my ability to toss 80 pound bales over my head is severely wanting of late.

Dad hammered.   And he hummed.   And he pried, bent, shifted, wrenched, jammed, jimmied, fiddled, screwed and swore for about 10 minutes as he cajoled the sprocket back into the conveyor and back into commission.    A few tests, a few tweaks as we ran, and it’s practically as good as new, and all for the cost of some elbow grease and good old fashioned practicality.    We unloaded all three racks with no other problems except the fact that we were both covered in hay bits and desperately needed a good shower.

Sometimes the simple solution really is the best one.