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to resort to that method occasionally, but normally we had the benefit of that most wonderful invention - when it worked - the overhead fork. For years, we had the original design: the “harpoon fork.” This had two tines, maybe three feet long, which would be pushed down into the top of a load of hay, usually by holding onto the rope, which went from the fork to a pulley on a track along the underside of the bam roofs ridgepole, and jumping repeatedly on the top cross-member of the fork until the tines were buried to the hilt in the hay.
A harpoon-like retractable barb at the end of each tine was supposed to, and usually did, take a firm grip on the hay surrounding it. The amount of hay lifted at a time depended on how cohesive the load was. From the pulley on the slide at the center of the overhead track, the rope went to another pulley at the same end of the bam as the mow to be filled. From there it went through a series of pulleys to a point outside the bam from which the team of horses would have a straightaway pull long enough to hoist the forkload of hay up from the wagon to the ridgepole and then pull the sliding pulley and the fork along the track to the point over the mow where the hay was to be dropped.
A trip rope, held at one end by the man on the wagon and attached at the other end to the fork, was pulled at just the right time to drop the hay where it was wanted. A great cloud of dust would rise from the mow when the hay landed. Loud sneezings and coughings from within the cloud would indicate that the men responsible for spreading the hay evenly across the mow had not been buried alive.
Others would haul back on the rope to re-position the fork for the next bite, and the driver would be returning the team to the starting point. All of this was extremely exciting for a child (or anyone) to watch. Later, when we had the far superior “grapple fork” which could sometimes unload an entire wagon in two or three bites - and once, at least, started to take the wagon itself-it really was prime entertainment. Very much like a “horse drawing” at a county fair, it was sometimes all the team could do to break the bite of hay free from the load. Then the trick was to get them under control so that they didn’t break the rope at the end of the pull - or pull the roof down to the hay rather than the other way ifound.^- »■!#%■*****■'*. .
The “cardinal rule” when working with the overhead fork was (and is) “NEVER STAND DIRECTLY BENEATH THE FORK.” This is particularly important when the fork is at the center of the track, at which point it is automatically released from the slide so that it can be pulled down to the load. A recently emigrated Italian shoemaker, whose deteriorating visual powers made it impossible for him to continue in his trade, came to work on the farm in the 1920s or early ’30s - before my time. Never having had to be concerned about anything more threatening than the possibility of a needle’s penetrating his thumb, the poor man could not seem to remember the cardinal rule concerning the overhead fork.
He did finally get the message, to everyone’s surprise - and most convincingly. What was surprising was that he lived to take advantage of the lesson. The harpoon fork, upon reaching the midpoint of the track, cut loose from the slide. There happened to be sufficient slack in the rope so that the fork came down in a free fall. Poor Pete was right below it, and one of the harpoon tines penetrated his cranium. That he survived was incredible. He was with us until the farm was sold in
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