"I hear Jim Sharp's likely to loose a leg," commented Fulton Cunningham. 
"Whatever will he do? I've read of a one-legged sailor, but a one legged farmer, oh no." said another man.
"You'd never be able to get down and under with only one leg" laughed Fred, referring to the fact that although most farmers in the district had already installed milking machines by that 1928 season, they all stripped their cows by hand after the cups were removed - sometimes twice.
But although they joked the men talking on that first Sunday after Christmas were seriously concerned.
"How is Jim, really?" one of them asked Bill Riddell.
Bill said, "You know Jim. He is determined to stick to his leg, but I'm sure he would get better quicker if he wasn't so worried about his hay."
Gray and Mike Clark had just come up to the group. "We'll put it in." They said quickly. "Our Komakorau gang will finish our last paddock on Tuesday if it doesn't rain. If Jim's hay was cut tomorrow I could come and rake on Wednesday."
John Ballard and Bill replied together, "We'll do that," and another close neighbour promised to bring his mower too.
"Our gang'll come and help put it in," voluteered Edgar McMullen and Mr. Forsman was certain his gang would be there as soon as the hay was ready to stack.
"We'll ring round," said Foulton, "The telephone really is a blessing. When I first came to Gordonton we had to ride to each home to tell the others in the gang when the hay was ready."
Early next morning the three farmers arrived in the paddock with their mowers and horses and a helper to walk behind. The crop was not heavy, but the driver must keep alert. The mower had to be lifted over any half-concealed stumps and where the long grass tangled it required careful maneuvering. The mowers did not back easily and many farmers lost their fingers trying to free the sharp little triangles that fitted into the mower shaft.
"It's a lot of hay - must be nearly thirty acres," commmented John. "It might take several days to put it in." But early on that sunny afternoon half the paddock was down and they debated as to whether they would mow the rest.
"The weather looks settled, "they decided. "It will depend on how many men turn up on Thursday." As darkness fell, six tired men and six weary horses went slowly home able to report that the hay was cut.
The Clarke brothers had one of the new American side rakes that lifted and tossed the hay before depositing it into long windrows. "I've got two horses pulling it ," Mike told the others, "but we'll need three or four dump rakes to put it into cocks."

Cutting Hay

Horse Drawn Implements Were Adapted To Tractors Not Very Safe But Neccessary (Kenny Photo)

Jim's brother-in-law Don brought one; Bill Sharp drove their own machine; Victor Ballard took his, and Sam Williamson promised to bring another.
When Sam went to catch Lassie he was dismayed to find she had cast a shoe. "I'll have to take Quid I suppose," he said.
His brother was doubtful. "Quid's never been in the rake. I know he's absolutely wonderful when we are stumping but I don't know how he'll go in the rake."
Quid nuzzled the young man's hand and seemed to promise to be good. "I'll risk it," said Sam.
"Well for goodness sake don't fall off if he plays up," Fred told him, "You'll get rolled up tighter than a bundle of hay. I'11 put a shoe on Lassie and bring her down later when I come to help erect the stacker."
Sam made good time, the five miles down to Sharp's with Quid trotting gaily pulling the noisy rake.
A dump rake rolled up the hay with its sharp iron teeth, and when the driver pressed a lever with his foot, the teeth lifted with a jerk and clatter leaving the hay in a bundle.
The first time the teeth were lifted Quid made a great bound forward and Sam nearly pitched off; the second time the horse stood on his hind legs and came down with his feet entangled in the chains.
It was fortunate that Mike was near enough to grab the horse's head. Somehow Sam stayed on and now he scrambled down unhurt. It took all his strength and horsemanship to calm the animal and prevent it bolting over the field.
"Sometimes even the quietest ones can't take the jerk of the rake," observed Mike.
Sam put behind him the thought of "what might have been" and went up to the house to ring Fred and ask im to come as soon as possible, bringing Lassie.
It was not a particularly easy task to erect those first stackers. A big post went into the ground and four stays were needed to make sure it did not tip when it was loaded. Later stackers were made with their own steel stands and were much easier to put in place.
Wednesday had been a glorious day, hot as Waikato summers can be. " We'll start at ten thirty," the mesage had gone out.
"All roads lead to Jim Sharp's today" commented one of the ladies who had come to help. "The hay-paddock fence is festooned with horses of all shapes and colours."
Some farmers had brought drays, but some arrived on their smart riding horses carrying their pitchforks strapped to their saddles.
A sledge brought down a cream can of cold drink - several handfulls of oatmeal with cut up lemon in the water. This was to stand by the stack, but billies of tea, fresh scones and plum jam were offered as workers urrived. One or two men from practically every farm in the district had come to help.
The nearest farmers had brought their sweeps; someone got out a long rope and looped it round the biggest cocks for his horse to drag to the haystack.
The horse pulling the "spider" that lifted the hay onto the stack had to be able to back; fortunately someone had brought a second horse used to this task. When Sharp's horse grew too tired to respond quickly he was replaced with Tom's. Never before had a paddock of hay gone in so quickly.
The ladies brought out lunch. There were too many men to go up to the house for a hot meal as they usually did in those days. There were thick slices of homemade bread spread with newly churned butter and great slices of mutton, followed by chunks of apple pie. And, of course, mugs and mugs of tea. It is not only the men who are busy at hay makiryg time.
Quite early in the afternoon the first stack was finished. The stacker was dismantled and dragged to the other end of the paddock.
"Can't waste time," Mr. Forsman said. Most of the men had not forgotten the days before machinery when pitchforks rolled the windrows into cocks to be thrown onto the drays to go on the ever rising stack. It was almost half done before the stacker was in place. Meanwhile at the far end of the paddock another group of men were hard at work. Using their long handled pitchforks the men threw the hay onto several of the drays and from that platform onto the stack. The stack was built quicker than when they were using "modern" machinery. Many workers and a spice of competition made an effective job.
When there was too much hay in the grab Duke would flop down.
At three o'clock the ladies brought down the afternoon tea - baskets of fresh scones and jam, more fruit cake and billies of sweet tea. Now it was milking time on all Gordonton farms but three stacks of hay stood where the grass had been drying unheeded less than a week ago. Somehow, the District's caring worked a miracle. Jim was allowed home from hospital with his leg which he was able to keep, and use, for another forty years.
Each year there seemed to be some new implement in the hay making field but always there was extra workers needed, glad to talk to neighbours and friends and share a picnic lunch in the sweet-smelling fields. Hay making was a very busy time, a worrying time when the weather was all important, but a happy time too.
Immediately after the war, Fred Mayall brought the first hay baler to Gordonton. At first the hay had to be brought to the baler but it was not long before the baler chugged round the hay field gathering up the dried grass and spitting out bales of neatly packed hay from the chute behind. How much easier it was to handle when it was fed to the cows in the winter.

Stacking Hay With Horsepower


1984 .........................
Morris Barlow looked worried. The hay had been cut and raked. It was ready to go in but the weather report predicted rain. "I can bale it," he said, "But. it is impossible to get a team to pick it up."
"There used to be several gangs picking up hay in the district. It was a good job for students wanting to earn some money," commented his wife. 
"Well there doesn't seem to be one this year," Morris replied, "It is such a nuisance if the bales get wet before they are put in the shed. Baled hay doesn't often go on fire like the old stacks used to, but it spoils the hay." Morris thought for a while.
Grey clouds scudded across the sky.
"Robbie Lucey's got a round baler," he remarked. "The rain isn't supposed to penetrate the round bales, and anyway one of us can get them to the shed with the front-end loader on the tractor."
So his own baler was left in the shed and the hay was made into great round bales each containing about fifteen bales of hay. Two men in their machines accomplished in an afternoon a task that the year before had taken four workers three days.
"How does it work out cost-wise?" asked his son.
"It is difficult to say," Morris said thoughtfully. "Robbie charges six dollars a bale, about one thousand dollars for all that hay. I suppose if I had baled it myself it would have cost nine hundred and fifty to get it into the shed. But it is the difficulty of getting the labour at the right time that is the deciding factor."
Linda looked thoughtful. "You know, it is not only in the hay paddock that fewer workers are doing more work. In 1950 my father milked a hundred and forty cows on two hundred acres (eighty hectares) and they always had three or four men in the shed. Now there are four hundred cows on a hundred and thiry five hectares with only two men in the two sheds."
"We've increased production too," replied Morris. "Nineteen years ago we milked a hundred and thirty cows on these sixty seven hectares, two men working in our ten-aside, walk-through shed. We still only need two Jorkers, but now we have a twenty six-a-side herringbone and there are two hundred and thirty cows." I wonder where it will end.

References:
Rushes ‘an Raupo, To cows an’ Clover by Edith Williamson