Scott City Musings: Memories in Baldy Valley

I got to thinking the other day about a valley we used to mow for the stacking crew, which used four horse hitches, as well as tractors. They’d come along behind us and stack the hay into 6-ton stacks. Baldy Valley was a fairly long valley maybe 4, 5, or 6 miles long. I’m not sure. Sometime in the past, they had dug a ditch down the valley from east to west and then every now and then a ditch on both sides, which ran north and south. The valley was full of springs, so it was wet year-round. This ditch system would help the water drain off and normally the valley would be dry enough to hay.

I was using an International H with a 7- and 9-foot sickle mower, Mick, my brother, was using an International C with a 9-foot sickle mower, and Duane, my brother-in-law, was using a John Deere with a 7- and 9-foot sickle mower. We were mowing down between two of the lateral ditches when Duane got stuck, like really stuck. He must have driven out onto some floating sod and that old Johnny Popper just sunk. He was stuck!

Floating sod was like you’d take a 4- or 5-block square and, out in that area somewhere but you didn’t know where, there would be an area the size of a basketball court that was floating sod. It looked normal and just like the rest of the ground, but the sod was floating. There was a layer of sod and I’m not sure how thick that was floating over nothing but muddy water or maybe quicksand. You could stand on the sod and jump, and you could make the sod have waves kind of like in water. When you walked on the sod, it felt kind of squishy like walking on a pool cover over a swimming pool. I have always wondered what would have happened if you’d cut a hole in the sod and dropped a cement brick down the hole with a rope tied on it.

Anyway, back to Duane who was stuck on some floating sod. He had sunk till the sod was up against the bottom of the JD. So we took wooden fence posts that were 6 to 8 feet long and chained them to the tires so that as the tire turned it would lift the tractor on top of the sod. We’d done this before, and it had kind of worked. It didn’t work! As the back tire turned, it buried the fence post as well. So now we had a mess.

So Duane went to the foreman Mert Phillips, who was no kin of mine, but he was a super nice guy. Mert was using, I believe, a four-horse hitch of big Belgium workhorses. Many of these horses would weigh a ton apiece or over 2,000-plus pounds. Mert was using a cart so he backed the four Belgians with the cart so they could hook chains on Duane’s old Johnny Popper. I’ll never forget when Mert lowered the reins and let those four Belgians pull that old Johnny Popper out of the sod and mud with some of those wooden fence posts still chained to the tires.

Thinking back it was a wonder no one got hurt. Nothing got broken. Duane did have a hissy fit and a temper tantrum. Mert had something interesting break up the monotony of a normal day. Those four Belgians got to dig down and pull and work up a sweat. I got to sit back and watch and enjoy myself and it left me with memories that will last me till my mind gets foggy and forgets or God takes me home.

Thinking back, I can still see that fence post swinging around in an arch and I can still hear that old John Deere say, "Pop pause, Pop pause, Pop pause, Pop." We have awesome minds the experts think they understand. They don’t. Our minds were created by God in His image. Thank you, Lord.

Just me,

Rennie

Phillips began life as a cowboy, then husband and father, carpenter, a minister, gardener and writer. He may be reached at phillipsrb@hotmail.com.