About Emily and Daniel

To me, the best real-life paragon of large family cooperation revolves around a typical hay day on an Amish farm—or the way it used to be done. Once the hay is windrowed and ready to bale, Dad calls all hands on deck, top to bottom, boys and girls. Oftentimes the lineup spills into neighboring families. Dad oversees each part of the haymaking, helping out where needed, sometimes raking more windrows once the baling is underway. Grandpa handles the team pulling the baler. The oldest children stack bales in the haymow because that’s where the hardest, warmest, sweatiest work takes place. Middle-bracket children ride the wagon hooked to the back of the baler, lifting the bales from the chute and stacking them in their proper place on the wagon. Unloading the bales from the wagon to the elevator demands at least one sibling old enough to handle the job, reinforced by a couple of smaller children who roll the bales within reach. More little ones are scattered throughout, doing this, doing that, or doing nothing, delighted to be part of the goings-on.

On hay day, everyone is on their best behavior. Even Curious George needs no intervention from the Man in the Yellow Hat. The littles, as yet exempt from work, caper about and get chaperoned rides to the field on empty wagons and return rides to the barn on the loaded wagons. Sisters work shoulder to shoulder with brothers, enjoying the outdoor work to the hilt. At chore time, Mom ramrods a ragtag crew to get the milking done. On a just-unloaded flatbed wagon, Grandma serves up stacks of omelet sandwiches seasoned with a light dusting of alfalfa chaff and slathered with mayo. Everyone leans against the sides of the wagon, sunburned and ravenously hungry. Icecold chocolate milk in glass quart jars caps it all off. Grandma smiles when she’s told that was the best meal ever, and everyone who says it means it from the bottom of their hearts.

Those were, and will always remain, the best of times. //

COLUMN BY: Melissa K. Norris