Soon my range of tasks were increased to discing fields. I got my first taste of driving a big diesel tractor and operating hydraulics which lift the 12 foot disc up and down for road travel and field work. My first time out I got badly burned after spending 9 hours in the sun shirtless without lotion. I learned after that day that a hat, long sleeve shirt and ear plugs would be in order. If you have never disced a field, its not too exciting, dusty and loud. The tractors we used didn't have a cab so I spent a lot of time singing to myself. You go around and around, breaking the large clumps of dirt into loose soil. After you have gone over the field longs ways and short ways, you come back with a "drag". It is literally like combing a field flat. Then it is prepared for planting. His neighbor Ed was in charge of this operation. It required someone who could keep the tractor straight and line up the rows on each pass. There is also a lot of refilling corn seeds and fertilizer. 
That year was also my first taste of baling hay. What an experience this is! Hay is a mixture of Timothy, Alf Alfa and Clover. That summer I had an experience not many get: seeding a field. I would fill a 5 gallon pail with the blend of seeds and drive the old 1978 Blue Ford pickup to a designated field. I would pour the mixture into a burlap bag, sling it over my shoulder and walk in a straight line while cranking the handle of the spreader. Upon reaching the end, I would take about 20 paces and start back down the other side of the field. Another important step in grown good hay is fertilizing it. 
You can do this with sprays, pellets or if you have a lot of cows, like he did, you us the manure from the barn by way of manure spreader. Seeing how his tractors didn't have lights, in the dark of the winter, one would often have to use a flashlight to see where one was going at night in the fields.
After the hay grows through the spring, it comes time to harvest it. For this task, a haybine is employed. A haybine uses a sickle bar with triangular teeth (which I have had the pleasure of removing and replacing teeth). It attaches to the back of a tractor utilizing the PTO (power take off) a splined spinning shaft that utilizes the spinning power of the engine to run equipment that is pulled behind the tractor. It also utilizes the hydraulic system of the tractor which is used to raise and lower the haybine or what ever tool that requires hydraulics. Most tow behind implements swing out for field use so you aren't driving over the crops. They swing back for road travel so they are directly behind the tractor. That was a fun part about driving on the road. While it was never racking to have traffic backing up behind you and semi trucks coming at you, it was fun because everyone waves to farmers. 
So, the haybine cuts the hay and it sweeps the hay up to a pair of rollers which flattens it out. After giving the hay a day to dry out and time for the morning dew to dissipate, one goes out with a hayrake to rake the hay into windrows. This process works well with a breeze in the air to help dry out the hay. A hay rake derives it's power through it's wheels as it is pulled. From there, once the hay is deemed dry enough, it is time to get out the hay baler and some wagons. A hay wagon often holds upwards of 110-120 hay bales. Sometimes Mr Pohly's cousin, Clint, would bring down his throw baler which literally thows bales into a wagon with sides and ropes. It holds less bales but only requires one person. Often we would have 1-2 people on a wagon to deck the hay. As I grew older and stronger, I could handle a wagon by myself. Depending on who was available though, there would often be two of us on the wagon. Between the contour of the field (bumpy), the starts and stops of the tractor, the harsh sun and the haydust, it was an experience to be had. I learned to handle hay without scratching up my forearms by using a longer hay hook. I also gave up on achieving a perfect tan in exchange for long sleeves to help protect my arms from the scratchy hay.
After a full day of making hay, the next morning we would arrive early to put the hay up in the barn. I watched as this old man, 71 to my 17 years of age, put bale after bale on the elevator while we scrambled around the mow trying not to fall between the bales, stacking them as high as we could. He would tell us stories of how he would deck the hay himself while his young kids unloaded the wagons. It was hard to imagine, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized that those stories were probably true.
Marion Arthur Pohly was the youngest of 5 children. He was born in 1925 outside of New Haven Michigan, north of 28 Mile on Gratiot. His oldest brother ended up living just down the road on Gratiot spending his retirement years fixing his brother's equipment. Mr Pohly spent his early 20's farming and taking classes. At 25, he married Louise, whom he affectionately called "Alice." I would often hear him singing "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" and we would insert his wife's nickname in for "friend." He ended up graduating with a Master's in Social Work and also became a United Methodist minister. We often wondered how he held down two jobs and farmed all those years. He and Louise also raised 4 children. He certainly never traveled far from Southeast Michigan. He worked steadily at his life until he suffered a heart attack and later had his hip broken by the kick of a cow. This slowed him down a little, but you could have fooled me.
When I met him at 71, he was still milking the cows twice a day, doing farm chores, driving tractor, preaching on Sundays and attending church meetings and making house calls for the church. I think just about every one of my friends worked for him at one point. I was busy too. I worked, attended highschool, later community college, played in band, ran track, acted in plays and had time for a girlfriend and friends. Maybe he wondered back at me as to how I did all that!
That first New Year's he invited me to a service at the little community church in New Haven. I went there by myself before heading off to party with friends. While I had a home Church in New Baltimore, that service had a profound impact on me. I saw him in a different light. He could successfully transition from farmer to preacher to father to grandfather to husband to one of the guys. He would always tease when I saw him on the farm "seen any cute girls recently? Man, I tell ya, life isn't worth living unless there are cute girls out there in the world." He was truly a righteous man of God but he was still a man, the kind of role model many Christian men need today.
We had many conversations over the years, sometimes while I was pitching manure, sometimes over water breaks from the hose at the pump house, sometimes in the milking parlor and often in the entryway of his house. We would talk on relationships, careers, religion and farming. He taught me the secret of a successful marriage:
1) You must agree upon religion
2) You must agree about money
3) You must agree about children
4) You must agree about sex
5) You must agree about motivation
There is a lot to expand on regarding these five points, but they are general and encompass a lot. I was drawn to this farm because of the romanticism of it all, but I was also drawn to him. He became the grandfather I never had. My grandfathers died before I was born. When my dad moved out, my mom decided I needed a male role model in my life. Mr. Pohly was certainly it.
He often invited me to family functions and often to play at his church in Meade. Faith United Methodist Church is just south of the little ghost town of Meade. The corners of 26 Mile Road and North Avenue once bustled with a little town. All that remains is a fading victorian house, a closed party store, a cemetery and several other houses. The church has no steeple because after the second time the steeple was struck by lightning and burned down, it was decided not to build a steeple again. I would come on Sundays and play my trumpet, play piano and later guitar. He would always give me the same introduction: "For those of you who don't know, Dave works for me on my farm. He is quite handy at the end of a pitchfork and a hay hook. He is also a good musician." The last time I played there he added "and he is also my friend." That meant the most to me. When I first met my wife, I would bring her to the little country church. We were lucky to have him at our wedding this past fall. I became good friends with his grandkids, Josh and Katie. His grandson Josh stood up in our wedding as well. I worked there a mere 5 straight years and a few off and on after but I could write hundreds of stories. Those memories will stay with me the rest of my life.
He passed away January 19, a year and two months after his wife died. She had a stroke and had been in a group home for two years and he visited her every day. They were married 60 years in 2010. I would visit as often as I could, weather it was at his house, the hospital and later at the retirement home. He was my friend, and I miss him.
