Hayin' Time

From what I could see on the speedometer, it looked like Toby was doing all of 50 miles an hour with the truck giving everything it could give.

"What year is this truck?" I shouted to him.

"Huh?" he replied.

I repeated the question at the top of my lungs.

"1964," he shouted back.

At least that's what I think he said; the noise was so loud I couldn't be sure and the heat was so intense we couldn't roll up the windows since the old Ford didn't have air conditioning. We were stuck in the situation, having to put up with the full brunt of the noise if we didn't want to die of heat stroke. Therefore, the conversation ended; for the rest of the ride, all I could do was wonder what I'd gotten myself into for the summer.

***

It was a 35-minute ride before Toby turned off the road through an opening in the fence that had seemingly run along beside the road for miles. Doing some mental calculations with my pre-engineering background, I figured we were about 25 to 30 miles outside of town. That was far enough that, if I had to walk to town, I'd probably die of the very heatstroke that we were just fortunate enough to avoid in the truck.

The truck rumbled like we were experiencing an earthquake as it crossed what I was to later learn was a cattle grate. A few feet past the grate, we continued on what appeared to be a country lane. I'd seen this scenario in a bad horror movie, just before the slasher was seen; the truck's tires were on a gravel road but grass was growing up in the space between and there was nothing to be seen in any direction except grasslands with an occasional tree. If the slasher showed up, my body would never be found.

Another few minutes passed, though at a much slower pace (with the truck being maybe a couple of decibels quieter) before we rounded a bend and I saw a big white house, a separate three car garage, a couple of barns and two silos that I could identify from having seen pictures of such in the past, and several other outbuildings of various sizes that I couldn't identify. Toby pulled up in front of one of those and killed the engine.

"What's this?" I asked, louder than I intended, since my ears were still ringing.

He laughed. "Your home for the summer. It's the bunkhouse. Grab your stuff an' come on in."

He went inside, leaving me to collect my things from the bed of the truck. I noticed that Toby had left the windows down as I went by the cab toward the building. Glancing inside, I saw the keys in the ignition. Perhaps I might be able to escape the mad slasher after all.

The bunkhouse consisted of a big room about 15-feet wide and 40-feet long with five doors on the back wall across from where I'd entered. The heat on the inside was about the same as it was outside. Toby came out of the door on the far left, fanning himself with a cardboard fan stapled to a big popsicle stick, similar to the ones I'd seen at my great uncle's funeral.

"If it was like the old days, you'd get a bunk out here in the main hall. The foreman and the most senior hands got the rooms, with all the newer pups out here. Seein's we don't have any company, guess you got lucky and can have a real room." He looked at them for a second before adding, "Why don't ya' take the one on the far end; AC unit works in there. Least it did last time we tried it. Just keep the door closed or you'll be trying to cool the whole hall an' you'll never get any relief. Bathroom's there in the middle. TV's an old black an' white, but it works. There's four channels listed on the card on top, but you have to angle the antenna toward the main house if you want to pick up ABC. TV's only supposed to be on after we're done for the night, so don't abuse the privilege."

"Thank you, Sir," I said.

Toby gave me a look before nodding. "Good to have you aboard, Eric. Get your stuff unpacked an' get settled in. I'll come talk to you in a bit."

I carried my things in the room he'd indicated. There was a bed, a chest of drawers, a little table and a chair. My eyes, though, were focused on the dusty window unit on the outside wall. Dropping the duffel bag on the bed, I went straight to that air conditioner and turned it on, praying it would cool things off momentarily.

Nothing happened for a moment and I was about to release a litany of curses about my situation before God took mercy on me. The AC shook and rumbled itself awake. Over the next half hour or so, my little room slowly became somewhat bearable.

A knock at my door awoke me. "Ah, come in."

"Gettin' an early start at life as a farm hand, I see," said Toby with a laugh. "I'll tell ya', the first few days are the hardest, so get as much sleep as ya' can. You'll need it as your body gets used to the work. In a week or so, you'll feel like you've been doing it forever. Which is good because hayin' time starts soon."

"Haying time?"

"Hauling hay. There's lots of it on this place so it goes on for weeks, if the weather holds. Goes on for weeks and weekends, too, if it doesn't. For now, get your boots on. You're not supposed to start 'til Monday morning, but that don't mean ya' can't spend some time learnin' some things."

We spent the next hour driving around the farm checking on the five herds. Two were fattening steers, one was yearlings, one was yearling heifers, and the last was mama cows with their calves. During one of the stops, Toby told me the steers would be sold in two lots in the late summer and early fall.

"You've seen the cattle drives in old westerns? That'd be these steers, 'cept these days, we load on on the trailer an' haul'em to market less than an hour away rather than spending nearly three months driving to some railhead. That's what Mr. Ralph's great, great granddaddy did back in the day. Then the railroad came an' made life, if not better, at least a whole lot easier."

He had some more repair work to do on the broken fence, so I stood watching as he completed the work before we got back in and headed home. It was almost 8 PM when the truck went silent for the evening. I shook my head, trying to get my ears to quit ringing.

Toby saw me and laughed. "Muffler on it's been rusty for a while. It finally broke through a month or so ago and has been loud ever since. Then, the dadgum thing fell off a couple days ago, right after Mister Ralph took the family to his mother-in-law's house. Soon as he hears it after he gets home tomorrow, he'll get it on the list for one of us to go get it fixed."

"Us? He'd send me for that?"

"Maybe. Eric, see, we have to do everything to keep this place running. If it needs fixin', one of us has to do it or take it to someone who can. I 'spect you'll be pretty surprised at some of the things you're doing before the summer's over. If you can make it that first week, anyway. Say it's supper time. Let's go see what Mrs. Johnson left us in the fridge."

***

Toby showed me more on Sunday morning. After lunch, he asked, "Eric, you ever ridden a horse?"

"No, sir. Well, other than the ring-around ponies at the carnival. You know, the ones that walk in a circle around the pole."

He looked at me for a moment before he burst out laughing. "Son, you've never ridden a horse. Come on. I'll get you started."

There were four horses in the corral attached to the stable, one of the other buildings I hadn't recognized. Toby moved up to one and slid on a bridle.

"This is Lady, Mrs. Johnson's mare. She's the gentlest, sweetest horse on the ranch. That doesn't mean she don't have an evil sense of humor if you let her exercise it. All horses do. Ever notice how in westerns the star gets off his horse an' throws the rein over a bush or the hitchin' post in front of the saloon?"

"Ye-ah?" I replied hesitantly, wondering where he was going with this.

"Movie horses are specially trained to stand still, but you can't give most horses enough treats to do that. They'll wander off in a heartbeat, including Lady; you'll be miles from home an' she'll wander home to the barn for dinner. See, she's got to walk it either way, but it's a lot easier if she's not carrying you. If you've got to get off, you tie the reins off like this."

He showed me how, and then went through the litany of things needed to get the horse ready for a ride. By the time we were done, practically another hour was gone. We went out in the corral and I had my first real ride, with Toby walking along beside me telling me how to do a few of the things I'd seen cowboys do in westerns for years. It wasn't, I discovered, as easy as it looked.

"We'll do a lesson every day this week, so by the time Mrs. Johnson gets home next weekend, you'll be an old hand at it."

I appreciated the lesson but didn't understand the need for it. I asked, "Toby, why am I learning this? Will I actually need to ride a horse?"

"Eric, the state calls this place a farm because Mister Ralph grows so much hay for sale to other ranchers. That's your primary reason for being here. Still, to Mister Ralph, me, an' most of our neighbors, it's essentially a ranch. Lots of things on ranches are different than they were a hundred years ago, but some things haven't changed that much. We don't wear six guns like the cowboys in westerns—though most of 'em didn't wear them back then either—or drive 'em hundreds of miles, but when it comes to herding cattle an' moving 'em from one pasture to another, there's nothing better than a horse. That means, yeah, you'll need to know how to ride. Do another, ah, thirty laps around the corral, then tie her off an' come get me. I'll show what's required after you've finished your ride."

***

My thighs and butt were sore as could be when I clambered down from Lady and tied her to the fence. Somehow, I made it to the bunkhouse and knocked on Toby's door.

"Come in," he called on the third knock.

I opened to find him lying in bed yawning as he tried to wake up. "When you're my age, there's nothing like a nice nap on Sunday afternoon, but all good things come to an end. Let's go check out your horse."

Toby nodded to me with a little smile when he saw I'd tied her off where she could reach the watering trough. He finished showing me what to do and we started the evening routine early. We finished up by around 6 PM and were walking back to the bunkhouse when we saw a car coming up the front lane. It pulled to stop by the house and a big, burly man got out.

I figured he was in his mid-40s and, at about 6-feet tall, he looked trim and strong. There was a bit of gray in his dark hair but he covered it up pretty effectively when he pulled a Stetson out of the vehicle and plopped it on his head. Seeing us, he came our way.

"Good afternoon, Toby. And you must be Eric?"

"Yes, sir. Eric Crenshaw."

"Good to have you aboard, son. I'm Ralph Johnson. Give me about ten minutes, guys, and come on in for supper. Ellie's made us a special treat but it's going to take a little while to warm up, so we can talk while it's heating. We want to wrap up early tonight; we'll be getting an early start in the morning."

***

The week was a blur. Each day was hard with the work, and each night harder as I dreamed of Carla and the fun we might be having if only I hadn't been an idiot and taken a job so far from home.

While it's true I was learning a lot, I'd no sooner finish one task than Mr. Johnson or Toby would hand me two or three more. Many of those required a lesson, and I didn't always get things right on my first, second, or sometimes even third attempt. Mr. Johnson sighed a lot as he repeated some of the instructions, and the grimace on Toby's face reinforced the fact that I needed to do better.

Wednesday was the worst; Mr. Johnson had Toby take the old Ford to town for the new muffler and tailpipe, and I'm pretty sure I ended up with all of Toby's work as a result. Mr. Johnson looked less happy than the day before, and he even shook his head once and told me to go on to the next project. He finished my failed effort and practically stomped off when he was done. He'd calmed down when I saw him again a bit later.

The work was never-ending and I always seemed soaked with sweat. With each day that passed, I became even more uncomfortable and ever more tired, so much so that I thought I was going to die. The only enjoyable parts of the day were my evening riding lesson with Lady, my nightly shower (though that was even somewhat uncomfortable since it was a community shower and since I couldn't pay tribute to Carla for fear Toby would walk in and catch the show), and bedtime, where I finally came imaging Carla's ministrations on more than one evening. Too often, though, I was too tired and just fell asleep.

By Friday evening, I'd convinced myself that I no longer cared what Mr. Johnson and Toby thought of me, that, if the slasher didn't show up and finish me off first, I was going to catch the bus home the next day. After dinner, a pitiful affair of warmed up TV dinners (since we'd exhausted all of Mrs. Johnson's pre-prepared means the night before), I looked at Mr. Johnson and cleared my throat.

"Sir, I, ah, ahem...I need to talk to you."

He nodded to Toby, who left the table and headed to the kitchen. Once he was gone, I looked back at Mr. Johnson.

"Sir, I don't think this is going to work. I think I should take the other bus ticket and go home so you can find someone who knows what they're doing. I'll gather my stuff and leave in the morning, if that's okay."

It was the longest sigh, as, elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together and slowly put his chin atop them. His frown was so severe that his eyebrows nearly met in the middle. He stared at the table for a few moments before looking up at me, the intensity of his glare practically cutting me to the bone.

"Eric, you promised you'd give it a week. You started on Monday—oh, you did a tiny bit of training work on Sunday, but Monday was your first full day. If you insist, we'll count that, so I think you owe me, at minimum, through Saturday."

Guilt overcame me. I'd made Eagle in the Boy Scouts shortly before my father died, and my honor was important to me; I always wanted to do the right thing. Therefore, I nodded. "You're right, Sir. I'm sorry, if I don't die first, I'll work through Sunday and head out on Monday instead."

"That's my man," he said with a smile. "We'll talk about this again on Sunday night. Sleep well, Eric, we have another long day tomorrow."

I was walking back to the bunkhouse when it hit me. The standard work week was only five days long and I'd already given him that. I'd been had!

***

On Saturday morning, after we did the morning rounds, Toby waved and headed toward the equipment building. We went in a side door and he pointed to one of the red tractors I'd admired a couple of times earlier in the week. He said, "Climb up," before opening an overhead door.

I was a little hesitant but did as he instructed. Minutes later, he'd shown me the basic operations before he asked, "You ready to start her up?"

"Me?"

He gave me his perturbed frown before nodding. Recalling what he said, I did it and the tractor roared to life.

"Now, put her in first and ease out."

It was just like he'd said, like driving a car, except being higher off the ground and moving so much slower. It felt as if the tractor was crawling, and I became convinced I was correct when Toby walked out and passed me, moving faster than the tractor.

The lesson continued with instructions on operating the throttle, using other gears, the lift, and the power take off. He also spent a lot of time on safety.

Most of the safety issues were common sense, like never getting off a tractor when it was moving. "You fall under those back wheels, you won't be standing back up, if you live to tell the tale. If the equipment you're pulling runs over you, too...well, you probably won't be going home except in a box...or a maybe a plastic bag."

Understanding the importance, I gave a solemn nod, but he wasn't done. "Now look back here. The PTO's probably the most dangerous thing on a tractor. It spins, fast, real fast, an' it can catch you in less than the blink of an eye if you get too close. Eric, people have gotten killed, or maybe worse, permanently maimed, with these things. Gotta' have it though, to get power to the equipment you're pulling in a lot of cases. Just be careful an' keep away from it. We don't want you gettin' hurt."

With his warning and the stern look telling me he wasn't exaggerating, the potential slasher of my daydreams suddenly had a new, mechanical face.

***

We finished with the cattle around 4 PM on Saturday. When Toby said we were done for the day, I asked, "What's going on, Toby? Why are we knocking off so early?"

"It's Saturday night, son. Unless we're in the middle of hayin', we usually knock off early on Saturdays. The Johnsons head to the city for dinner and a movie, or whatever, an' I go into town to see my girlfriend."

"You have a girlfriend?" I asked, somewhat incredulous.

He grinned. "Yep. Gotta' go clean up an' get ready to go. Why don't you saddle up Blaze and take him out?"

"Blaze? But I usually ride Lady."

"So does Mrs. Johnson, who'll be home tomorrow. Take Blaze. Do a few laps around the corral to get used to him, an' then take a ride out in the paddock. Don't go too fast an' don't get too fancy. Do that an' you'll do just fine."

Just as Toby had promised, Blaze and I got along well. We got back to the stable just in time to see a well-groomed, well-dressed man walking toward the equipment building. It took me a second to recognize him as Toby, who'd shaved for the first time since we met a week before. I took Blaze in the stable for his grooming and rubdown, but ran out a moment later when I heard a loud noise. Just after I got outside, Toby pulled out of the equipment shed on a big Harley. He closed the overhead door, gave me a wave, and headed toward town.

***

No one woke me on Sunday morning, so I was surprised to see it was just after 8 AM when I awoke on my own. I dressed quickly and ran outside, knowing that Mr. Johnson was going to be furious with me for falling down on the job; he would probably fire me if I hadn't already decided to go home the next day.

Instead, I found him riding back into the main yard on Quint, his big chestnut stallion. He dismounted and I approached, being careful not to scare his horse, a rather surly cuss I later found out was named after one of Mr. Johnson's favorite movie characters of similar disposition.

"Sorry I overslept, sir."

He smiled. "It's Sunday, Eric. You're off today. Unless we have an emergency due to the weather, which happens sometimes, you can sleep as late as you wish on Sundays. I just checked on the herds and am heading inside to get ready for church. You're welcome to come, if you'd like. We can stop at the Burger Barn afterward and I'll buy you lunch."

I went to church regularly when home with my mom, but didn't usually go when at school. This time, though, there was an offer of lunch, so I agreed after telling him that I'd take care of Quint's grooming.

He nodded to me. "Thanks. I'll see you out here at 9:45."

***

Toby was sitting at the table in the main room when we got back from church and lunch. He was fanning himself and had a contented look.

"Hi, Toby. You must have come in late. I didn't hear you come in last night."

He grinned but didn't respond. "So, guess you're lookin' for something to do this afternoon. You thought about going swimmin'?"

"There's a swimming pool? Where?"

"Well, not exactly a pool, not like you'd know, anyway. It's a swimmin' hole, down in the creek. That's where we swim when the cows are downstream." He glanced at the calendar and nodded. "Plenty long enough. Safe as shootin'. Take Blaze, your swimsuit, an' a towel. You'll be good to go. Just be sure to dry off good 'fore you get back in the saddle. You'll be sorry if you don't."