Hay Days and Lightning Bug Nights

We've been hit with a heat wave. The hay fields are busy places. Hot weather like this brings back memories of my Mom driving the old orange Case tractor to rake up the hay in neat rows. The big Massey Harris would follow with Dad driving, at first, hooked up to the baler and rickety old hay wagon. My sister Kathy and brother Steve and I would be onboard and ready - though not always willing - to work. Eventually one of us would have to drive the tractor and Dad would jump on the wagon to stack those bales up three, four or five high. Our ability to stack them on that not so sturdy wagon was limited. Dad's probably was too, but we were blissfully unaware of his limitations at the time. He was our hero and our protector as well as our boss. He was in charge. We took this sense of security for granted.
I wasn't a very good tractor driver. Dad and my siblings had to do a delicate balancing act as they worked on the wagon. My jerky starts and stops along with the uneven ground of the hay field kept us all challenged and busy. When we finished, the baler was left in the field. The wagon was reconnected to one of the tractors and off we went to Grandpa's barn.
Mom usually stayed home to fix supper. She would bring the car down to pick us up after the last load of hay was mowed away. Dad had the most to do. We could throw the bales into the mow for those top two layers. We could drag them from the door back into the mow. But Dad was the only one who could stack them up as high as they needed to go and as sturdy as they needed to be. One of our tasks was to listen for mewing. There were frequently nests of kittens which needed to be quickly relocated or their residents would be buried alive. Dad would stack
up bales in the mow, then climb out onto the wagon and throw more bales in for us to drag back. Then back he went into the mow to stack those away. It was always hot and steamy outside. It was even more so inside the hay mow. Putting in the hay was a long, hot, sweaty process which we repeated over and over again throughout the summer.
As a reward, we often went to Dewan Dairy for ice cream cones after we finished. It depended on whether or not we had already eaten dinner. Sometimes Grandma would have warm from the oven cookies for us to eat - or to take home. It depended on whether or not we had already eaten dinner. Grandpa might have a treat - like fresh strawberries or cucumbers or tomatos - from his garden which we took home to add to our supper. Occasionally, we would have a family softball game.
We were much younger then. Dad's teenage siblings would join us and we would play ball until we couldn't see the ball anymore. Even Mom joined us sometimes.
No one was too old or too young. We didn't keep score. We just played ball in the open field behind the one room school across the road from Grandpa's farm.
Some nights we simply went home - covered with hayseeds and sunburn and sweat. Frequently, there wasn't enough water for all of us to take a bath. The well often went dry in the summer. We'd sit out on the soft grass to cool down, sipping ice water or lemonade. We could lie down on our backs and see the stars dancing through the branches of the maple and willow trees. We would also see lightning bugs blinking on and off and darting through the air all around us. It looked like a Tinkerbell convention. We could catch them in our hands. We caught them in glass jars but let them go when Mom called us in. We'd go off to bed still covered with hayseeds and sweat but at least cooled off enough to get a good night's sleep.
As I recall those hot summer nights today, I know I am looking at them through rose-colored glasses - a soft, shadowy hay daze which leaves out a lot. I hated doing hay and was quite verbal about how unfair it was that we had to work so hard. I sunburned easily and had many a painful burn unless I wore long sleeves. Kathy, Steve and I had our share of arguments, too. But looking back now, there is a simplicity of life which has been lost. Life got infinitely more complicated as I journeyed toward adulthood. There were many persons, places and things which undid all childhood illusions of Dad as protector. The world proved to be a scary and dangerous place. I made my share of mistakes. I was married. I had a child. I divorced. My brother Steve died two years ago. He was only 47. Mom died last summer. She was 72. There are two younger sisters, Andrea and Becky, who carried on that haying tradition after Kathy, Steve and I had left the nest. We're all older. We couldn't get a wagon loaded with hay bales any more, even if our lives depended on it. Although, I think that at least one of the tractors will still run. Arthritis and aging are taking their toll on my family.
I was the first to leave home and begin to realize that perhaps, it had not been so bad. In fact, I began to understand the blessings we took for granted.
I was the first one to run into the brick wall of reality and feel the pain of assuming adult responsibilities and letting go of childhood's freedom. I led the way in learning how to make the most of mistakes - turning them into lessons learned which enabled me to help others.
If my help and hard-earned wisdom was rejected, those lessons at least helped me to understand what others were going through. I could walk with them even if they didn't let my learning make it easier for them. Many times, we simply have to learn things the hard way.
Every time I catch a whiff of fresh cut hay, I remember through a hay daze those lightining bug nights of childhood.
Every time I work up a sweat or get a sunburn, I remember the unrelenting heat felt in the hay field, and the heavy heat of the mow. I remember how hard Dad worked and how little we appreciated what he did.
Every time we get together to celebrate - as we did on Father's Day, I give God thanks for all that we shared as a family - both the good and the bad of these precious memories of hay days and lightning bug nights. All these memories came flooding back tonight because a single lightning bug was dancing outside my window.
I thank God, too, for all we share here and now. I pray for the wisdom and grace to appreciate all that is still to come.