An Infinite Supply of Finite Resources When the flames subsided, bulldozers pushed the still smoldering
broken bales onto the adjacent field, destroying sections of concrete
ditch and fencing along the way. One of the barns was charred but
none of the structures had been destroyed. No one was seriously in-
jured. As the flames died out, onlookers lost interest, returned to their
vehicles, and drove away. Firefighters gathered up hoses, talked with
my father, then headed back to their fire stations. Broken bales of hay,
pushed into the field, would smolder for weeks.
As dusk set in, I stared at muddy bulldozer tracks and ground that
oozed water with each step. My parents, who never discussed financial
matters in front of their kids, said little. It didn’t matter. All of us knew
that the road back would be arduous. Fire had consumed the food that
was meant for the cattle. Their sale would have kept the farm going
over the next four seasons. The fire had robbed our farm of revenue
while leaving intact all of its costs.
What was gone forever extended beyond bales of hay and lost in-
come. The sense of accomplishment from having endured hot summer
days had also vanished. Of my siblings, I was the only one afflicted
with allergies; baling hay kicked up clouds of dust that made my eyes
burn and brought on sneezing fits. None of it changed the fact that
each bale had to be loaded and stacked on the wagon, then unloaded
and stacked once again. Moving the bales to the barnyard came down
to brute determination. When hay-hauling time came around, the
Sun seemed to move twice as slowly across the sky.
Each year, a new haystack was started. With each load, the one
drawing the short straw got the more demanding and difficult job of
placing the bales that became the new stack. By the end of the summer,
the results showed. A poorly constructed haystack made it harder for
me to break the stack down and feed cattle over the following year.
At the beginning of summer, with lingering memories of fighting
precariously built haystacks in the ice and snow of winter, I voluntarily
took on the job of building the new stack the entire summer. With
each load of hay, I meticulously crisscrossed the bales for maximum
rigidity and made sure that as the haystack went higher, it remained
level and plumb. At summer’s end, as I set the final bale in its place, I
was worn out yet I felt content. The finished haystack, standing true