Out here on the ranch, one of the most important crops we produce is hay. It's very important that we harvest peri hay, alfalfa, and have hay stored up for winter feed for our livestock. This poem is called Hay There. Growing up here on the ranch back when I was just a kid, Helping bale up hay was the first field job I ever did. I was too young to drive a tractor, too little to do much, But I could go to the hay field and help with bales and such. My dad would drive the tractor, pulling baler and wagon behind, As we moved across the field where the windrows were aligned. The baler picked up hay and spit out each small square bale, Although, occasionally, we'd stop when the knot tier would fail. The hired man had a hay hook, He'd pull bales up on the wagon and stack them up five-high until the heat would have him dragging. My job was to ride on top holding together the stack of hay, Although, I think the hired man put me there to get me out of the way. When I got bigger, I became the one to use that sharp hay hook, Stacking bales up high was the task I undertook. When the hay rack was full, then I would say, "Oh, darn," Because that meant unloading them in that dusty hayloft to the barn. It was a hot and dusty job in the barn with no breeze moving, But when it was all done, my dad was so approving. When we pulled the last bale in with muscles tired and sore, We would say, "Well, that's the bale that I've been looking for." The years have come and gone with the changes that entails, We now use a tractor to move the big round bales. But when the hay is all put up, I still have the urge to say, "Now, that's the one we've been looking for," Because we're really making hay. Happy trails.