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On Saturday we were trying to roll last year’s hay bales to the new grove. The technology involved here is to shove an iron bar through the centre of the bale, attach it to the tow bar with a long rope on the sticky-out bits, and off we roll. Because the bales are that much older and the string a little weaker they kept busting before we reached our
destination, and each trip was agonisingly slow in an effort to keep it all together until the right moment. I could NOT stay awake as we crawled to and from the new grove. At one stage I had gone deeply to sleep and Simon swung Sherman (the ute) around the corner – causing me to keel over into his lap. I thought he would stop breathing completely he found it so funny! It just made his
day. We finally discovered that if we rammed the iron rod through the bale low down and nearer the outer edge, we could ‘skate’ it behind Sherman, and it didn’t undo. Then we snip the strings, push the bar through the middle, attach the ropes and unroll it all the way down the row.
When going down the hill sometimes the bale catches up with Sherman, so Wonderboy came up with the idea that I should come behind with a rope also attached to said bar, and just hold the doings back enough to stop it taking off down the hill. This was all very fine, we fitted it all up, I got a good grip on the proceedings, he jumped in the cab, popped the
clutch and off we went. The bale and the ute went that is. I tell you, Ben Hur had nothing on me; if I
 had been wearing a paraglider I would have been soaring like an eagle, but I was attached with some determination to a 400 tonne bale of hay. The legs went straight up in the air and I landed flat on my chest, the covering of which, and my mouth, duly filled up with grass seeds, sticks
of hay various, and a generous helping of dust. My reins began to roll under the bale and ol’ Ayrton junketed on down the hill unaware of my plight until the runaway bale caught up to him! We got the hang of it in the end, but I have to tell you that there was not a lot of sympathy there.
Michael was home on Sunday, so he helped me with the Ben Hurtling, and you have no idea how much easier it is with two people lolloping down the hill, twisting their ankles and skidding on the coarser hay, remembering to let go if the reins roll under the bale, but keeping control of this Grand Panjandrum - come what may.
Soon we begin to fork it all onto the trees, quietly going about our business and listening to the cricket …. Aaaah! The good life!
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