They don't make them like they used to

I live in the middle of Newton, on Main Street. Right next to us is a hay field. A hay field on Main Street? It’s not that uncommon for rural Cache Valley. There are several areas inside the town limits where hay or grain is raised every year. They are becoming fewer as the years pass because of children growing up and wanting to build and live in Newton. The family owned ground inside the town limits is the logical place to plant those homes, but some interior fields still exist.

The gentleman who lives next to us is a relic. He's 94 or 95 years old this year (an estimate, but pretty close) and still gets out and takes care of his hay fields that surround his home. He's a very private person. He has a sister who is in a care facility in Logan and I don't know of any other family living.

I remember a day a long time back when one of our cows got its head under the corral fence. He alerted my mother to the problem - dad was at work - and my mother didn't feel she was up to the task. She asked him for help and he came back with a saw and cut out a section of the fence to free the cow’s head.

Last year we were fixing the corral in an area that borders his property and had some conversations with him. He offered me some grass hay from around his barns, and we helped him cut down part of a tree.

I know that he likes to watch baseball, and back in the day when a thriving competition existed between all of the small communities (carried on today by the Blue Sox and other local teams), I believe he was involved on the teams Newton sponsored.

On his property is the finest replica of an old farm barn that I have seen in Cache County. I know of others in other communities, but because it's in such good shape for its age, and because it was in the background watching over the childhood memories of my backyard, it is my favorite.

 

In a way, it's a representation of the man who owns it - strong and silent, surviving through the ages, holding years and years of memories inside. Since I was a youngster I had wondered what was inside, but never had the courage to ask to look inside it.

That changed last year, when we were helping him with his tree and he agreed to show me the barn. Mostly it wasn't anything spectacular, just the kinds of things you would expect in an old farm barn. There were some ancient tractors inside, but that wasn't news because I have seen them year after year when he cuts and rakes the hay around his home and barns.

The one treasure that I didn't know about was an old 1916 Hudson farm truck that he reports still runs, and he occasionally starts it up to make sure of that.

Another spring has come and almost gone, and it's hay cutting time all around the valley, including the lot just next to us in Newton. Every day and into the night there are tractors criss-crossing Newton to the fields that surround us. It's a parade of all makes and models of farm equipment.

I watch these tractors and trucks driving by all day, but seldom is there a time when I stop and watch one of these farm implements at work. What is really special is the day that my neighbor brings out his hay cutting tractor.

A larger photo would be better, but I hope you can get a feel for the history at work in this little field next to our house. I have watched him use this same tractor and hay knife setup since I was knee high, and still love to pause and watch when he cuts his hay once or twice a summer.

If you take a look at the area where a steering wheel would be - and notice that it doesn't have a steering wheel, then you'll get a sense of the age of this little tractor. What it does have is a set of reins. They attach to levers on the sides of the frame and operate the steering mechanism. A museum piece in operation, I love it!

Lately I have been wishing that I had taken the time to find out about things that my dad and grandparents could have told me about their lives. Except for the few things that we have recorded or remember, those stories are gone from this earth. I hope I can avoid that mistake by taking time to learn and record the memories of friends and family that are still with us.

Government Sanctioned Torture

I am sick.  My lungs are full of crud, I have aches and pains, and I wish I was in a Nyquil induced coma right now.

I began to get sick Thursday, sore throat.  I started using over the counter remedies because Saturday I was scheduled to be at the Logan High track for a session of government sponsored torture, otherwise known as the wildland red-card pack test.

This is the physical fitness test required to be completed each year in order to have your red-card certification renewed.  What is red-card certification, you ask?  It's what an insane person seeks in order to be allowed to fight fires on federal lands, as a member of a Forest Service hot shot crew, or a BLM crew, or a wildland engine crew, or a local department who offers resources, etc.

Here in Cache County we use it as a means of identifying personnel who can respond to wildland fires on government owned land, to work with Federal and State fire suppression personnel on those fires.

To complete the test you must carry a 45 pound pack around for three miles and complete the distance in less than 45 minutes.  Let me just say this: If you think the pack test is strenuous, actually spending a shift (12+ hours sometimes) on a mountain digging fire line, cutting down trees, etc., makes the pack test look like a walk in the park ....  So, the government sanctioned torture doesn't end with the pack test, the pack test is where the torture begins!

I am happy to say that I didn't give in to the torture attempt, I didn't let them win!  I made it with ample time to spare, but torture it was nonetheless, mainly because of that darn cold I mentioned above.

A person who exercises regularly, or prepares by starting to exercise a few weeks to a few months before taking the test can handle the test without difficulty.  I had been preparing and exceeded my goal by a little bit, I just wish I could have tried the test on a weekend when I wasn't starting to get sick, as will be related in the next paragraphs ...

I felt better that morning, not suffering as much from the cold symptoms I had dealt with the day before.  After the test I went home and finished a full day of fire department and personal work projects, then settled in for the night.

After I had sat down for about 1/2 hour, I was hit with the realization that I was sliding backwards into a pit of suffering - also known as the common cold.

From that point on I pretty much became a vegetable on the couch unless I absolutely had to move.

Now it is Monday and being the loyal employee that I am (ehe), I got up and made it to work at my usual time, and pray that the cold remedies will help me get through the day.

I hate colds.

All said and done, I don't mind the pack test that much.  I didn't get sore from the exertion, just suffered afterwards this time because of the cold I was starting with.

I do enjoy the initial attack of a wildland fire - where the bombers are coming in, dropping retardant all around you; firefighters are coming from several stations to setup operations, etc. - that's quite a rush.

The extended work of a wildland fire is monotonous and strenuous.  I don't like that as much, but it's part of the job and since I will be wildland red-card re-certified I better get used to the fact that I will likely end up in the hills with a shovel or other tool, before this summer is done.