The daily process of putting out the hay at the dairy became my job during the week when I was in high school. Paul and I would team up and we made a good team. He was five years younger that me so he would be up on the hay stack and push the bales down to me on the trailer so I could stack them. We had it down to a science. When all the bales were going down hill it was easy and fast. Bottom bales were a different thing altogether. They would get stuck to the ground and I would pull them up to the trailer and Paul would drag them into position so I could stack them.
We always got three wire one hundred twenty to one hundred thirty pound bales. It was great for me as I considered myself a jock and liked to work out. Paul got pretty fast at sending the bales down the hay stack. I liked to try to set the bales in place on the trailer as fast as they came down. If you got a bale to come down end over end it could travel a long way fast.
Once Paul had a bale coming down that way and I wasn’t quite ready for it. Turning to see the next bale it hit me square in the chest like a pulling guard in the pros. It knocked me off my feet and down in between the stack and the trailer. I was laying there with the wind out of me. We tried to do this task fast, I knew it was an accident, but I remember Paul coming down to me saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”. Once I got my breath back I assured him that it was ok and that I was ok.
I guess that’s why golfers yell “four”!