Is This Wonderland?: Making Hay

My dear hubby asked me to bale hay. I've baled hay before - small square bales that weigh fifty or sixty-five pounds apiece. You pull the small square baler behind a tractor; the baler is about knee-high, maybe waist-high at the tall part.

But this time, Desperate John has asked me to bale with the big square baler. You pull it behind a tractor, too, but it looks like this:

OK, I admit. I cheated a little with Photoshop on the size thing, but you get the idea. It feels this big from the outside, and gets even bigger when you climb in the cab. When you sit in the seat and look down over the terrain, you feel like you could wheel this baby alongside the semis at a truck stop without losing any self-respect.

A husband who asks his wife to drive it is a husband in dire straits, don't you think? Poor man. The full-time guy went back to school last month and John's left with help that doesn't know a pressure valve from a peanut. But, because I'm basically a good sport, and because he didn't discuss this with me after 9 p.m.--brain cell hibernation time--I agreed to give it a shot.

The first thing that caught my eye when I got in the tractor was the cute DVD player.

Well now, isn't that nice!? I thought. Baling can't be TOO terribly hard if they give you a DVD player to help the time pass. Should I watch a bit of the five-hour Our Mutual Friend, or re-live the glory days of summer 2004 with the Red Sox whupping the Yankees?

John flipped a switch, and my DVD suddenly morphed into a computer monitor that has ten screens, each with eight or ten different bits of information about the hay I'm baling. Can you believe that? We've got more stats on this bale than Steinbrenner has on A-Rod!

Fortunately, I only have to keep track of four or five numbers, with instructions to call John if any one of them strays from the acceptable zone. Or if I forget to close the pressure valve, and the numbers begin to orbit around in outer space, and I can't figure out why. Turns out we talked a lot on the phone that afternoon.

Before he trusted me alone with his baler, we made a practice round. Something on the monitor beeped; John said to turn around and look at my knotter sensors.

I cranked my neck around to see this:

"Sensors? Where? What sensors?" I asked.

Shouldn't "sensors" in this technological masterpiece involve LEDs, digital numbers, wireless signals and flashing transmitters? Instead, all I see are six little white plastic disks---lids off of Pringles cans---cheerfully bouncing up and down atop the baler. I can't believe this! Six lollipops, probably held by six little Teletubbies, overlooking six rows of baler twine, and those are the sensors? "Ee-eee-eee--eee-eee," the head Tubbie says. "Hold up your lollipop if your little string gets tangled."

Sure enough, one of the Tubbies is holding his lollipop high, indicating something wrong with the third knotter.

By the time we can stop the tractor, climb on the baler and open the lid, the Teletubbies have all run away. There are lots of places to hide in a big baler.

John shows me how to rethread a knotter. Just like threading a sewing machine. I can do this.

I only threaded it wrong once. (Never mind that the Tubbies only signalled once,....I'll get it right next time).

Overall, the baling went better than I thought it would, and John seemed pleased. I had to live without the DVD, but the Rangers were on the radio. I learned something, helped my hubby, and had a great sense of accomplishment. I never did see the Teletubbies, but I know they were back there - those lollipops kept bouncing!