Yes. I said what I said.
Anyone who has met me at the farmers market or in person knows that I am not svelt. Not even a little.
Like most I'm not thrilled with this but I digress.
The day the fat helped was a typical 90* day here in Indiana. I'd worked all morning but scheduled to pick up a few round bales for the girls that afternoon. I texted my husband to hook the truck up to the trailer because I was going to come home and hop in the truck to hightail it to roundbaleville.
So I run a bit late, get home, hop in the truck and head out. Now...this truck is on it's last legs. A 2006 Ford that sounds like it's going to hork up a cylinder at any time, that we still owe money on, and is too far gone to fix according to the mechanics we've had check it.
But by golly we have it and will drive it until the wheels fall off (or engine falls out) whichever comes first.
I baby this waste of metal the three towns away to "hay guy #2" (I believe his name is Curtis...but I wouldn't swear to it, my phone contacts are quite a chore to go through for anyone that isn't me) and drift to a stop beside the already selected bales. He loads. We chat. And then he offers to help me strap them down. Awesome!!
Where are the straps?
.....WHERE ARE THE STRAPS?!
Dear husband deigned it unimportant and did not send straps with me. Luckily I had him set the bales on end so they aren't prone to rolling and if I go slow it should be ok. (Ha Ha so naive.)
So I get the hunk of junk started and pull slowly on the road. It's going well. I get to the highway and wait quite awhile, playing with the gas peddle to keep the heap running. Go through the little itty bitty townlet my mother grew up in and come to a stop, ready to turn on the second to last road before a straight shot home.
Truck is sounding like it's choking on some sort of Decepticon, the car in front of me goes and I creep forward to peer past the corn and see nothing so I start to go myself and a Jeep flies out of a driveway which results in a stomp on the breaks. It passes by, I may or may not have glared...and...well moving on, I whip the truck out...get a wee bit down the road and think that it's pulling really well. Look back and see nothing. No bales.
Farther back they are merrily blocking the country intersection, practically waving with smug, hay looking faces in the net wrapping.
There were many NSFW words that came out of my mouth. The only place to turn around was an angled driveway guarded by a mailbox and a light pole. Ya know....no pressure. After a ten minute struggle in which I jackknifed the trailer numerous times BUT no vehicles came down the road, I get turned around and weave myself through the bales and park on the side with hazard lights flashing.
I have no tractor. I have no winch. I only have me. I try to call my husband but it just rings (this is a chronic issue) and I think I see a glint of car in the distance. Crud.
So....me it is.
I pull out the ramps and go about pushing the first of two 1,000 lb round bales off it's end (amazing how the damn things ended up on their ends again. They planned it, I know it) and out of the middle of the road.
I probably looked pretty similar to a psycho water buffalo as I ran at the bale time and again to rock it enough to get it to tip on it's roley side (bale tipping, the new American past time) but finally over it went. Next was to get it rolled UP the trailer ramps. Yay. So fun. 1 star do NOT recommend.
So my fluffy butt is rolling this hay bale nonchalantly as a car passes by, I can only imagine what they thought. The first bale finally arrives at the base of the ramps. I try my husband again....no answer. Shocking right?
So, all she-hulk style, I start shoving the bale up the ramps. Move it a bit and get a bit more of my body under it. I fleetingly consider joining some woman body builder competition, there has to be some award for this somewhere. Suddenly there was a bit of relief as the bale reached the apex and rolled onto the flat area of the trailer. Oh thank goodness. I roll it to the front, for a moment afraid I'd push it too far and it would hop of the little rim and nestle itself on the hitch. It would be just my luck. But it rested gently and stayed where I put it. YAY.
One more to go. Only I had to turn this as well.
Ten minutes later I had done it. Wishing that the buckets of sweat that I'd poured out would actually stay off next time I stepped foot on the scale and tried my husband again. And he answered!! Yay while at the same time infuriating. He'd been on the tractor...he hadn't herd me.
Anyway I need the straps that SOMEONE did not send with me and our bales went walkabout on the road. 20 minutes later he shows up and we strap those bales down as hard as we can. The rest of the ride home was uneventful but I did have a certain glee watching the goats tear into the bale we put in their pasture.
Moral of the story? Always double check that you have ratchet straps.