in a row along a central horizontal crank-shaft that

in a row along a central horizontal crank-shaft that spanned the full width of the machine. As the tedder was drawn over the field, the shaft was made to rotate by a chain drive from one of the wheels and the little forks, as they reached the lower point in their cycle, would alternately kick backward, catching up a bunch of hay and throwing it into the air. It was very exciting and by far the most spectacular machine in the field.

The rake, which came next in the process, was not nearly as interesting. Known as a “dump rake,” it wasn’t much more than a very large version, on wheels, of the hand-held variety. It was drawn by a single horse (or mule). The monotony of watching the rake in action was relieved from time to time when so much hay had accumulated in front of the tines that it had to be dumped. Then, the driver would push down hard with his foot on a long pedal which would raise the tines of the rake and release a large pile of hay.

From that point everything was done by hand. Men, women, boys and girls armed with three-tined hay forks (short-handled) or pitch forks (long handled) would go through the field making smaller piles from the large piles left by the rake. The size of these smaller piles depended on what the maker thought he or she could pitch up onto a wagon that might or might not be loaded eight or 10 feet or higher when it reached that particular pile.

The wagons we used were very much like the old Conestogas, except without the hoops and covers, of course. Drawn by teams, these archaic vehicles would move ponderously from pile to pile as the hay was pitched up to the two men making the load. The people on the ground used the long-handled pitch forks so as to be able to reach the top of a nearly loaded wagon.

The men on the wagon would direct the placement of the forkfuls of hay as they were pitched up, then carefully arrange it so as to make a cohesive load. At each of the four comers of the wagon was a “standard,” a vertical stake six or seven feet high. The corners of the load were built against these, and they established the shape of the load as far up as they went. Beyond that point, the skill of the load maker was all important.

A small boy’s or girl’s role in all of this could be to take the reins and drive the team. With experienced, willing and well-beMayed horses, the driver’s Task was'aheasy one. But, 1 remember how very important I felt - although secretly a bit apprehensive.

All the children were usually allowed to ride high up on top of the loads on the trips to the bam. That was the high point for everybody and a chance to rest for those who had worked hard. Sometimes, if traveling across a hillside where there was always a chance of losing the load, everyone but the driver would get off and tiptoe alongside, hoping fervently not to have to pitch the load up a second time. I lo remember one we lost, and it was very depressing, I can tell you.

In places, we would walk beside the wagon, on the downhill side, with pitchforks stuck into the load as high as could be reached at about a 45 degree angle, leaning with all our weight into the load in an effort to keep it from sliding off. That was a bit risky, as there was always the chance of being buried- and smothered - under a load of hay.

We had four wagons, and loading them all was about all we could do in an afternoon. They would be hauled up the ramp onto the “bam floor” between the two mows and usually left to be unloaded the next morning.

The most primitive way to unload a wagon of hay is to fork it off. We had