Here we are, just after mid-summer, in the middle of a 30+° heatwave, and our thoughts turn to winter. What on earth brings this about?
Well, it’s peak hay-making season round here. And it’s a bumper year, with everyone reporting high yields of good quality hay. It may not have rained on St Victorien’s day (see village motto), but there is certainly “bien du foin”.
As hay has been cut, turned and baled in neighbouring fields during the first part of this week, our thoughts turned to the use that would be made of all this natural goodness. We know that we shall need forage for the llamas during the winter, although we hope that they will be able to find decent grass in the fields for much longer than at Roquetaillade.
It seems that everyone in this area makes the large round bales of hay. Fine if you have a big tractor with a spike on the front to move them around, because they weigh over 200kg. We went out into the field on Tuesday night and experimented with pushing one around. Possible, we thought, but it would mean putting them on the ground floor of the barn, and taking up space we wanted for other things. Now, if only we could find someone who had some nice small bales . . . . .
On Wednesday evening, we were surprised to find Florian at our door. Florian is a friend of the previous owners, who had called round once before to ask if we had by any chance found his mobile phone which he had lost on the land somewhere. He is originally from Nantes, but now has a farm near here, and is leading a crusty, dreadlocked, self-sufficiency life. “I’m making some hay in Saint-Sornin, would you like some? Only 100€ a tonne. In small bales.”
It seems the Universe is working hard for us on this one. We jump into the LandRover and follow Florian in his impossibly derelict van up to a field on the other side of the village. Along with a horse and a donkey, scattered around a field are about 200 small bales of rather nice hay. Within minutes, we have agreed to buy 150, and delivery is arranged for the following afternoon.
Now this is all very well, but before we can take delivery I need to do some work on the floor of the upstairs section of the barn. Although it has clearly been used for many years for hay storage, there are large sections where you wonder how the hay has actually stayed on the first floor. Between the strong old oak beams, there are many big gaps which seem to have been filled with twigs. Held together with hay. And then hidden under a layer of hay, so all looks deceptively solid from above. As Val has already firmly declined to venture into the upstairs section, I need to patch the holes.
We’re certainly not short of old timber. In fact, there’s so much around the farm that we think we might not need to buy any heating wood this winter. I reckon that, with the hay coming this afternoon, I can easily patch up enough of the floor during the morning.
Half an hour into the floor fixing, I hear the rattling sound of an old vehicle coming through the gate. “Is there anyone?” comes Florian’s plaintive cry, in his occasional broken English. He explains that the météo are forecasting storms for the afternoon, so he has come early. And here’s the first 100 bales to unload, from a different — and equally charmingly derelict — lorry, and a trailer that seems to be held together by rope.
“Oh! OK then.” And we set to work, unloading and stacking in the lower part of the barn. And out the door. And then another lorry load, and we have a pile stretching high and far. And it’s going to rain. And the floor’s not ready.
We sit in the shade and share a beer with Florian. He offers us a puppy if we want one. Truly, this man has been sent to deliver our wish-list!
A distant rumble of thunder interrupts our conversation, and Florian takes his leave. Despite feeling tired after the unloading, and despite the current 32° heat, there’s work to be done! Val heaves the bales around downstairs, while I do some very high speed and very agricultural carpentry. And then it’s time to start the punishing work of carrying 20kg bales up the open stair case, and piling them 5 high on the newly ‘fixed’ floor. All 165 of them (yes, I know it was meant to be 150,
Halfway through, I think I am going to die. Of heat stroke. Or exhaustion. Or being crushed under a collapsing pile of bales. I’m sweating so much that my clothes are soaked (no, that is not meant to be a two-tone t-shirt).
Time for a quick break. Water. Water. Tea. And back to work. More thunder – closer this time. It’s looking more and more like rain. And there’s still loads of bales to move.
For the last 40 bales, I am counting each step. Hoping to just settle into a dulled rhythm. Don’t check how many bales are left, just deal with each one as it comes. They seem to be getting heavier. Could that really be the case?
And then suddenly it’s over. There is no more hay outside!
Tall rows of neatly stacked bales peer down from the upper floor of the barn.
I strip off all my clothes on the door step, and head gratefully for the shower.
Within 10 minutes, the rain is lashing down, and forming a river across our yard.
A good day! Thank you Florian! Thank you Universe!
You both work so hard!It takes me weeks just to decide where I want a new flower bed to go!