that damn baler

Allis Chalmers 60 inch Round Baler Plus Memories

Above is the one piece of farm equipment that was probably not the most well thought of marvels of modern engineering there is.  In fact I imagine it has probably at one point or another been referred to as that damn AC round baler more often than anything, and even worse by our family as well, as I can attest.

      Mom and I were driving around the area looking at the fall foliage and decided to grab a bite to eat and headed to the Carroll County fairgrounds to sit and eat in their parking lot. Unbeknownst to us was the fact that our visit also coincided with an event for which they were preparing, and that was the Antique Farm Equipment show this weekend. Numerous tractors were already on display and Mom and I were able to drive the car around and check out the farm equipment. Both Mom and I noticed right off the AC round baler hereafter referred to as the damn baler in reference to my story today. If all the swear words I have ever heard in reference to this damn baler could magically stick to the side of its gleaming orange paintjob, it would be so well hidden from view that no one person could ever tell it was a baler, but instead maybe a mound of four letter words that would probably work as well as that damn baler did, But we muddled along with the damn baler till we found something better.

     If the damn baler could tell tales it may have told one of the time of when it had regularly screwed up, just minutes after I had just left the field and my Grandpa.  I was five years old, as he handed me the grease gun and sent me to the house. We had just ridden the tractor, a Ford 8N to the top of the hill.  Grandpa would let me drive as I sat on the edge of the seat in front of him, and I would steer the tractor as he watched over me. But while using the damn baler it was important that I not be around as it wasn’t the safest environment, as I will relate to you.

     This baler would produce these foot and a half to two foot round bales, five feet long, and was supposed to automatically kick them out as you raced around the field.  You will note the aerodynamic design complete with a wind spoiler, which instead of reducing draft and providing down pressure to prevent tire slipping, instead was more commonly used as a rain or sunshield while working on the damn baler. It was to the point that when we would use it before we replaced with a more modern baler, we would have to have 3 people to run it. You needed to have 2 dog trippers as they were called, and a tractor driver. The machine was worn out by that time.

      It wasn’t nearly as bad the day when Grandpa was using it many years earlier, as again I had just left the field and started to head back down over the hill past the barn to the house at least a quarter mile, to a half mile away from the house and left Grandpa alone in the field with the damn baler when something went wrong as usual with the damn baler. After a few cuss words I would imagine, Grandpa set the brake on the tractor, as the tractor with the baler attached was on a small incline. He dismounted the tractor to see what the problem was in the rear of the baler, as once again one dog had not tripped,(metal device used to spur the baler to the next movement in its cycle of making bales), when he noticed the tractor and baler were suddenly moving downhill uncontrolled.

      Grandpa ran from the back of the damn baler to the tractor to climb up on the platform to help sit in the seat and control the tractor when his feet slipped and he fell in front of the large rear tire of the tractor and slid underneath the tractor, as the tractor tire rolled right up over his chest barely missing his head and crushing his chest at the same time breaking 13 ribs, all the while hooked up to the damn baler which was tagging along behind the tractor. What the tires on the tractor didn’t do to try and kill my Grandpa, the damn baler was following behind to once and for all finish. Unfortunately for the damn baler it wasn’t allowed to finish that day as it ran out of hillside to roll down. Instead, both the tractor and baler were in a little valley and if Grandpa would have done nothing it would have stopped anyhow. One doesn’t know this when trying to make quick decisions. A brake lock on the tractor failed and caused the whole thing, but it was the damn balers fault in the first place.

     Grandpa lay on the ground under the tongue of the baler, until he found enough strength to finally, twist his body and pull himself to his feet, and head to the house in the searing heat on foot, as he wasn’t able to climb on the tractor and he wouldn’t have been able to unhook the baler if he could have driven the tractor. Instead he followed my tracks and limped the quarter to a half mile it took to get there, barely able to stand without intense pain.  As he rounded the turn by the barn, I was in the yard playing and noticed him and ran to him. Before I got there he went down on one knee and yelled the best he could for me to run and get Mom which I did.

     She hurried him off to the hospital and he was there a couple of weeks mending and while there suffered pneumonia, and was in bad shape but eventually recovered and returned home. I remember seeing his chest naked as he prepared for a shower one night shortly after the incident, and I could see clearly on his chest the bruised lug marks, where the rear tractor tire ran up over him, how close it was to his neck and could only imagine how lucky this man was.

    We kept the baler and the tractor and used them for a while afterwards till we were able to find a more suitable replacement. All the while we stuck more swear words on it since it never performed any better and only worse, and as I looked at this baler today , I could see it was still baling memories for me to keep and share for a later date, as that is kinda what balers do.

     Considering how dangerous this machine was, we were lucky no one ever was hurt while running it, except Grandpa. The round baler I have now makes one bale for every fifty that the damn baler produced. I do all the work myself and the bales produce less waste. The idea at that time with the damn baler was to leave the bales in the field and just graze your cattle in the hayfield. Though if the cows didn’t eat the hay bales completely, as was often the case, then it would cause you problems next year mowing the hay.