Seven-year-old Scott followed his dad as he walked towards the lower fence of Grandpa Henning’s pasture. Scott watched his father’s feet and to synchronize his steps with his father’s. Scott matched his father’s steps for a minute or two until he realized that he was falling further behind his dad. He jogged to catch up and matched pace again. As could be expected, he once again fell behind the elder Henning and had to run to catch up. This cycle repeated itself over and over again until they reached their destination.
Scott looked ahead of his dad and wasn’t quite sure
what he was seeing. He had seen all manner of farm equipment in his short
lifetime. He had watched his father and his uncles drive the tractors around
the farm pulling all sorts of equipment and wagons. At his young age, he had
gotten used to the constant flow of farm traffic. But what he saw on the
hillside just north of the pasture did not look right, even to him.
As the cross-generational duo walked up the hill it
became clear what they were looking at. At the steepest part of the hill, there
sat a forage wagon. This in and of itself was fairly unusual. It was not
standard Henning farm practice to leave forage wagons parked in the field overnight.
The situation before them was even more unusual due to the orientation of the
forage wagon. The wagon was on its side.
Scott’s mouth
hung open in wonder as he approached the wagon. He ran his fingers along the corrugated
roof of the wagon as he listened to the dull purr of his fingers glancing off
the ribs of steel. He followed his father around the rear of the wagon and
watched in wonder as the undercarriage of the wagon came into view. The treads
of all four tires were exposed to the two. One of the upper wheels lazily turned
in the fall breeze emitting an occasional squeal. The webbing of the cross conveyor was clearly visible on the underside of the wagon. Scott stifled a
gasp as they rounded the final corner of the overturned wagon and stared into
the partially filled interior of the wagon.
The beaters stood like spiked guards at the entrance
of a creepy lair. The floor webbing was partially exposed on the high side of
the wagon and freshly cut corn silage drifted away from the floor and across
the inside of the wagon like a green and yellow snow bank. The sweet and sour
smell of the silage greeted the duo as they stood at the opening of the wagon
and surveyed the damage. Scott, who was experiencing great amounts of wonder
and excitement at the strange situation, worked to conceal his elation. He knew
by his father’s demeanor that his excitement would not be well received.
Dale had been working late into the evening the day
before chopping corn. Corn season was well under way and there was a lot of
work to be done. To make matters worse, Luke, his fourth born son, had broken
his arm earlier that week. Luke was skinnier than average in the Henning family
and had decided that he didn’t care for the idea of having a cast on his arm. So,
he simply slid his arm right out of the caste. Christa took him to the doctor
to get a new caste that, hopefully wouldn’t slide off. All things considered,
Dale had a lot on his mind when he was chopping corn the night before.
He had been driving the John Deere 4455 through the
dark corn field towing a Fox chopper and the forage wagon behind him. With the
other things on his mind, Dale had neglected to ensure that the silage was
being evenly distributed across the back of the wagon and had allowed the wagon
to get disproportionately heavy on one side of the wagon. One of the wagon
wheels had rolled into a groundhog hole and had thrown the center of gravity
off just enough for the wagon to tip over.
So, that left the Hennings with an overturned forage
wagon that was half full of silage. David rolled up to the bottom of the hill
with an open topped forage wagon. Jonathan followed behind him with the Gehl skidsteer.
The three adults had a lot of work ahead of them. They sent Scott back to the
house and got to work. they took turns shoveling the corn silage out of the
overturned forage wagon and into the bucket of the skid loader. They dumped the
buckets of silage into the open topped forage wagon. After an hour or two, the sidelined
forage wagon was empty.
Once the wagon was empty, they had to figure out how
to tip it back up on its wheels. They hooked a chain to the undercarriage of the
wagon as close to the high side as possible. The other end of the chain was
attached to the 4455. Dale put the tractor in first gear and slowly pulled on
the chain. The wagon slid in the field for a few feet and then began to tip.
Jonathan pulled the Skid loader up to the opposite side of the wagon and lifted
as gently as possible. The center of gravity finally shifted enough for the wagon
to land hard on its tires. It rolled slightly until the front tire came up
against the bucket of the skid loader. David un hooked the chain and piled it
into the toolbox of the 4455 as Dale backed up to the wagon. David hooked the
wagon up to the tractor. The tractor pulled forward enough to relive the
pressure on the skid loader bucket and everyone headed for home.
“Well,” Dale grumbled to himself. “I guess that could
have been worse.”
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