One-time mainstay of hay farms fading into history

Published 9:00 pm Thursday, July 21, 2005

ELLENSBURG – Hay farmer Eric Ollgaard gave up hiring hay buckers in the mid-1990s because they were so scarce. About two years ago, he started using a hay squeeze to stack the 2,000 tons of hay he gets in each cutting. He relies on the machinery, along with the help of two high-school boys, to get the job done.

“Our society as a whole has gotten pretty soft,” Ollgaard said, explaining that the seasonal, temporary work is both physically and time demanding – a turnoff for some people. He also said hay export companies are snatching up young workers with guarantees of higher wages and more consistent hours.

Hay buckers work during harvest season – typically midsummer for first cutting, and later for a second cutting – and are paid by the hour or by the ton loaded. They do this during some of the hottest temperatures of the year, filling barns to the brim with hay.

“You’re putting up 60 to 70 tons through the heat of the day,” Ollgaard said.

Timothy hay is Kittitas County’s single largest cash crop, with an annual value of $25 million to $30 million. Most is shipped to Japan’s horse racing and dairy industries.

Hay farmer Bill Lowe stopped hiring hay buckers in 1987 after purchasing a squeeze. He said though he hasn’t saved money by doing so, he has saved time.

The introduction of the new technology, Lowe said, coincided with the waning interest in hard, labor-intensive work by younger generations.

“For a long time it was easy to get college kids, but they didn’t want to work that hard,” Lowe said.

In addition to five seasonal machine operators, Lowe uses a squeeze to stack 1,500 tons in his barn. He said hiring machine operators has never been difficult. Word of mouth and the help of family friends has kept the task to a minimum, Lowe said. And the money – $10 an hour for often more than 12-hour days during a three-week span – keeps the worker retention rate high.

“Everybody seems to want to do it,” Lowe said. “We don’t have to force anybody.”

Hay farmer Mark Swanson uses neither a squeeze nor hay buckers because he doesn’t stack the hay higher than the harrow beds do. For the 200 to 300 tons of hay his fields produce, stacking it would be more of a hassle.

“It would be too inefficient to have hand labor do it,” Swanson said.

Not all farmers have shifted to the machine-operated approach to stacking hay.

Farmer Carl Jensvold said he doesn’t use any technology to stack hay because purchasing such equipment wouldn’t justify the expense. He said it would cost more than $30,000 to buy a squeeze, not including maintenance.

Jensvold currently employs two seasonal hay buckers to stack the 2,000 tons of hay his fields produce. He hired the men, in their late 20s to early 30s, about five years ago. They work hay on weekends and evenings after getting off their regular jobs.

“It’s good extra money but it makes for extra-long days,” Jensvold said. “If you came out and did it, you’d wonder why they do it.”

He said he has noticed a decline in prospective hay buckers but doesn’t think they will completely disappear.

“They’re kind of a dying breed,” Jensvold said. “There will always be kids around; there will always be some level of people that load.”

Jensvold said he thinks because fewer children grow up on farms, fewer have a thirst for hard work. And with modern machinery, some of the labor gaps have been filled, lessening the demand.

The prospect of prosperity seems to attract young men to the fields, especially those looking to save a large sum of money in a short period of time.

Three of Lowe’s five workers are younger than 20 and save money earned over the summer to pay for college. He said high school and college students typically work for him before moving on to better-paying jobs. “We’re not too ornery to work for,” Lowe joked.

Bale operator Sage Shelton, 18, has been working on farms since he was 14 to save up for college. He worked 180 hours for Lowe this summer and said he is putting the money toward attending Washington State University this fall to study agriculture.

Ollgaard said he pays his laborers – who also work part time during the school year – $8.25 an hour. During harvest they put in as many as 65 hours a week, he said.

Jensvold said his workers earn $4 per ton loaded, which translates to about $150 to $200 each day.

But money isn’t what has kept 74-year-old Ron Frye coming back to Lowe’s farm every summer for 11 years.

The retired Ellensburg resident operates a baler during harvest season and said he will continue doing so as long as he can climb on and off the equipment. He’d do the work even if he wasn’t getting paid, he said.

“There’s a certain degree of nostalgia,” Frye said, who grew up on a farm. “I think it keeps you young.”

He said the farming community sometimes has a hard time finding people to operate machinery, in part because many young people have little to no experience driving equipment and farmers may be reluctant to turn over such expensive pieces to a novice.

“I’m expected to operate equipment, take care of it and not abuse it,” Frye said. “I know that investment is there.”

Frye said the Kittitas Valley has vast employment options for the younger generation if they’re willing to get their hands dirty.

“Young people in this valley can get a job doing farm work and work their way through college.”

This year’s drought chopped the crop, however, and also workers’ hours. Most farmers’ first harvests are done by now.

Lowe noted that this season is considerably shorter than most and the hay produced is lighter because of the ongoing drought.

He gathered about 1,500 tons of hay this year compared to the 2,500 during ordinary years. Some farmers might get a second cutting, but most won’t.

Swanson is feeling the pinch of the less-than-average rain season as well. “You get half a crop but all the bills,” he said. Swanson said his business hasn’t felt any economic effects yet, but no doubt will.

Machine operators weren’t as concerned about the decrease in crop and hours.

Frye said he wasn’t bothered by the shorter run. “It’s kind of a labor of love,” he said.