editor's note: this is the fifth and final installment of our special supplement from Lynn Miller. View Part IV here.
We're mowing at a brisk walk, about 3 miles an hour, which is my preference. Even with these McD high gear #9 mowers timed, tuned and sharpened properly, going too slow can cause plugging in certain fine, wet, and/or wiry grasses. This is also why, when I'm opening a new land, possibly with wet lodged low spots, I prefer a team that will respond to my commands to walk faster AND be willing and able to stand quietly for a long stretch if I should need to clear a plugged cutter bar, or do some field mechanicing.
The team, on this opening pass, is walking through standing hay, belly deep. They love this run because frequently there is grazing available at a comfortable nose height. They've learned, over time, that if they keep a steady no nonsense straight ahead pace they can steal mouthfuls of grass and legumes as we mow. Fact is, I happen to know that they honestly think they are outsmarting me. They think I can't see. They think I don't know they're stealing bites. If they should stop or slow down to grab a bite, I would scold them. So they move along perfectly, trying not to let on that they are beautiful, clever thieves. As easy as they are on the lines, and with the snaffle bits, chewing and walking is no stretch for them. Our syncopation is built in small part on comic tolerance.
At 3 miles per hour we cross the field in 5 minutes. I never look back while mowing, keeping my eyes fixed on those two distant points until halfway when I've picked out a third point midway between the others. As I get closer to the end I leave off looking at the stick in the fence and just concentrate on the mid-point and the far distant tree. Not until we reach the fence do I stop and allow myself to look back.
Wooee, is that pretty! Straight as an arrow, mown hay laying back in a combed and symmetrical pattern. Feels mighty fine. I don't call this working, I call this making art.
I turn left, cutter bar towards the fenceline, and mow the 150' wide end and lift the bar, still in gear. We step straight ahead a short distance across the previous land, where yesterday's hay is waiting for the morning dew to pass (I hope to rake this hay in the afternoon). When the new mown hay has vibrated off the cutter bar and while we're still moving ahead, I kick the pedal forward and take the mower out of gear. We swing around on a U-turn to head back from where we came.
That first cut opened a new long hay land, a strip of hay up against previous strips, all part of a forty acre field. Each land is approximately 4 acres. I work this way deliberately rather than dropping the entire forty acres at one time. This allows me to mow four acres, next to another four acre land that I am raking which is adjacent to yet another land where the hay is being picked up or buck raked. I get better quality hay this way and fret a whole lot less about losing the whole field to weather or other uncertainties. If anything gets damaged or lost, it's usually just four acres. It also works very well with the horses as motive power. In fact work horses brought me to these sorts of conclusions, led me to thinking of patterns of working that give me the best chance of comfort and success.
Same trajectory, opposite direction, when we get to the land edge I aim the team to walk over hay they just mowed. I'm using the foot pedal to hold up the cutter bar. We stop just before the cut edge. I lower the bar and put the mower in gear. I speak to the team and we head off across the short end of the land. Twenty feet in I can see a ball up on the bar and that we aren't making a full cut. I tell the team to stop, take the mower out of gear, and use the lever to raise up the cutter bar. I can see what looks like a big nest plugged on the ends of two center rock guards. Off the mower and with team lines in hand, I clear the ball of nest and hay off the bar and run my fingers over the tops of the guards. I feel and hear something. Going back over with my fingers, I find a loose guard. I tie a half hitch of the lines onto the lifting lever and retrieve my crescent wrench from the tool box. After the guard gets tightened, I oil up the cutter bar again. Usually don't do this until I've made a few rounds, but I'm down and it's handy right now.
Mower fixed, I take the lines in hand and, speaking to them, walk around the left side to the heads of the mares. I offer them each a handful of the new mown hay as I spot check their bridles and harness from the front. I look up and around to make sure no one is looking and I plant a kiss on each soft nose. If anyone did happen to see me do it, I would deny it ever happened. Gives the wrong impression, to other people that is.
Back on the mower, we cut the remainder of the land end and I make a clean corner and head up the long side. The opening pass, having been made in the opposite direction, has lain the hay down in such a way that I can expect, on this cut, a couple of ballups and sure enough, one comes straight away. The inside heal has gathered a knot of hay and we're missing a strip. I stop the mower and this time I back up the mares just a foot before I raise the cutter bar. Usually this will clear the knot without my having to get off the mower. It works and we set out again.
We mow for two hours and drop more than half of the land before we head back towards the barn. I have more horses than I need, and some of them are out of shape. They need time in the field. This team could keep going all day and drop up to ten acres of hay if I pushed them. But no need to. I'm gonna go back and get another team to mow with.
I drive the mower over by the barn and point the team away from the barn door. I'm careful to park in a spot where the mower won't roll either direction when I unhook. The easiest way to tell this is to stop and back up just a hair to see if, with the tugs slack, the mower remains put. I get off the seat and unhook one tug when I notice someone driving up the driveway. I hook the tug back up and wait 'til the visitor gets out of his pickup.
"Cool! Those are Clydesdales aren't they?"
My Belgian mares roll their heads and shrug their shoulders both letting out a deep sigh. The visitor wants to help me with the horses and I tell him firmly that he can talk to me all he wants but I must insist he not stand in front of the horses or touch anything while I unhook. We visit while I unhook the traces from the evener and move, lines in hand to the left side. I drop the lines on the ground and go round to unhook the heavy tongue from the breast straps. I'm careful to hold up the tongue until completely free and then let it down slow to avoid hitting their legs or hooves. I unhook the check reins and go back to my driving lines. We continue to talk. The mares think it's time to walk off and because I'm talking, they catch me off guard. They succeeded in walking three steps ahead, so I stop them and calmly start up again and walk them around, they think they are going in the barn, but I turn them and we walk over the tongue and I make them stand as though we are going to hook back up. I talk with the stranger for ten minutes until the one mare lets loose with a long squeaky methane blast that raises her tail in the air.
"Sorry girls, yes it is time to go to the barn." And we walk off quietly, with confidence and comfort and with the whole of our lives musically defined.
Copyright © 2004 Lynn R. Miller. Work Horse Handbook second edition, Lynn R. Miller.
