Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 13, 1981 - Sanpete County

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, there may have been a few fleecy clouds; blackbirds, crows, and
magpies kept me company— far enough away from me to consider themselves safe from any kind of attack.
The blackbirds may have sung a few sweet melodies, with trills and flourishes, and meadow larks told me,
perhaps, in what is still, to me, the most appealing of all singing commercials, that I would sleep that night in
"a pretty little town." At least, let us suppose that those were the idyllic conditions on that fine summer
afternoon, for they would have made the day perfect.
The hay had been mowed and raked into windrows to "cure." It was my job to rake it into cocks for
loading with pitchforks onto hayracks.
Alone that day, I decided to have some fun by making an immense cock, enough to provide more than
half-a-load of hay. A full load usually weighed about a ton.
The rake used then was a self-dump rake, with a row of curved tines between two wheels that were
five feet in diameter and nine feet apart. 4 It had a driver's seat on top. The horses were trained to straddle the
windrows as they pulled the rake to the place where the driver “tripped” it by stepping on a pedal and causing
the times to flip up and leave the hay in a pile.
I raked hay from all directions until that cock was probably big enough to provide 10-12 minutes of
pitching time for two men. Its diameter must have been as wide as the hayrack was long. It was a masterpiece
of teen-ager foolish fun.
I can't remember what my brothers and my father said when they saw it. Since the oldest one didn't
like to squander time he may have said I probably wasted half-an-hour horsing around; the one three years
older than I, with the rivalry that sometimes prevails between brothers nearly the same age, might have
mumbled that that was about what you'd expect from a dumb kid brother. My father? Well, he could have
removed his felt hat, scratched his head—and chuckled quietly. He was like that. I believe he knew that fun on
the farm was almost as important for teen-agers as learning how to work. I wish I could thank him for the
lesson and the fun, but he has been gone for fifty-six long years.
Sources:
1
I am aware that the Jackson-fork is still used on some Sanpete farms for stacking baled hay. An interview with Reuel E.
Christensen, April 1981, provided this information.
2
0n April 9, 1981, I noted that the ancient coal-storage sheds used by my father and another coal dealer are still standing
alongside the short railroad spur tracks. These sheds always contained a supply of coal to fill orders at any time of the year.
3
When I read this paper to my wife, she didn't know that a hay-cock is a small pile of hay.
4
A nine-foot rake could pick up two swaths of hay, each one four-and-a-half feet wide—the width of the cutter-bar on a
mower. These are some of the exact bits of information provided to me by Reuel Christensen. My thanks to him.
FANTASIES RE-LIVED
Halbert S. Greaves
1904 Herbert Avenue
Salt Lake City, Utah 84108
Professional Division, First Place Poetry
Remember youthful dreams, hopes and fears
That you have kept alive throughout the years;
Look back when old—and then, behold!
The world of youthful magic reappears.
x x x x x x x x x x x
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