It happened again. With twenty bales of hay left in the barn, I reminded myself to start looking for more. An endless, thankless job I would welcome anyone else to take care of for me. Down to two bales, I procrastinated, hoping the “hay genie” would magically appear with a couple hundred squares to tide my horses over nicely.

How many do you have for sale, is it covered, green, first, second or third cutting, and how much do the bales weigh? Oh, and is it this year’s hay or last? Seems like I’ve asked those questions a hundred times to various hay growers, knowing that maybe one in twenty or thirty might be on the up and honest side with their descriptions over the phone.

Driving an hour or two to “take a peek and smell” of my horses’ lunch before buying it was mandatory after I’d had a few bad batches delivered. And of course if it wasn’t a hundred and ten degrees, it just wouldn’t be worth it now, would it?

I had a “steady eddy” supplier a few years ago. Mr. Jones had baled hay for years and knew how to put up the best. Jones would call a week or two before baling and let me know the approximate date. I could then line up loading and hauling help, have enough hay for the whole year and be a very happy camper. When Mr. Jones started baling his beautiful hay in big round bales, he downright wrecked our tidy relationship. Begging and pleading for small squares was out of the question; he had defected to the other side!

“Second cutting, alfalfa/grass mix in fifty-pound bales,” the gentleman relayed ever so nicely. Sounded pretty good to me. “Okey-dokey, I’ll be there in about an hour to take a look.” Dusty, coarse, and two leaves of alfalfa to a bale just didn’t work. Not wanting to tell the fellow his hay “stunk,” I told him I had one other batch to check out and would get back to him. Never ever give out your name and phone number to a potential hay seller unless you purchase. Word travels fast and you’re recorded on the blacklist of fussy horse-loving broads.

“Perfect June grass put up tight in fifty- to sixty-pound bales.” Ohhhh, I could smell it through the phone! I’ll be right there! Dang if the guy wasn’t right; it was very nice, fresh, green hay today, but by the end of the week after it dried out, I would be able to lift the twines up to my neck and what was left of the bale would maybe weigh twenty pounds. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Brome grass, pleasantly mixed with one-third alfalfa: horse candy at its best!” Yahoo, this was it! “Sir, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Please don’t consign it to anyone until I arrive.” Looked good, smelled good, decent weight, and he had plenty. “May I open one up to take a little peek?” “Well, Miss, this here hay is two dollars a bale and if I open one up I’ll never get the twines back on tight and won’t be able to sell it.” That’s about the time I spotted the snake head sticking out of a corner of the bale. “I’ll get back to you.” Where there’s one snake, there’s a whole lot more!

Second cutting, straight alfalfa, heavy squares. “Just set aside ten and I’ll pick them up later this evening and leave a check if you’re not around.” I knew this neighbor, and as much as I didn’t like feeding straight alfalfa, it would do for now until I could find some grass or a mix. Problem—BIG problem: I couldn’t lift the dang bales into the pickup! One fellow’s version of “heavy” and the next guy’s was unbelievable; these bales must have weighed a hundred pounds or more.

The only help I found on the farm was the guy’s dog, and the only ambition he seemed to have was burying my check in a hole around the corner of the barn.

Amazing idea—just totally amazing: cutting the bales open and stacking the hay in layers in the back of the pickup.

I should have known better when the bales “popped” as I cut the twines. Flake after flake, I wound up with a total of three whole bales stacked in a pyramid.

As I drove down the highway on the way home, a semi’s side wind blew out all but the bottom five flakes.

I just kept driving, eyes straight ahead…