The Simple Life - Hay Bale Jumping

Growing up in a small farm town, the things you do while hanging out with friends could be considered simple.

When my sister was in 3rd grade, she got to start taking piano lessons. Her piano teacher happened to be the mom of one of my kindergarten acquaintances. They lived only a couple miles from our house on a farm. Eventually, Andrea and I started playing together while my sister had her lessons. We would run wild on their farm: jumping from tops of rock piles, climbing and exploring the loft in their barn searching for trinkets, and my favorite... hay bale jumping.

Andrea and I as pigs in a school play. Hay
bale jumping was pre-cell phone, picture
taking days.

Their farm had rows and rows and rows of big, round hay bales just waiting to be given to their cattle in the winter, but in the meantime, we put them to even better use. Andrea and I would sprint the length of the row and then turn to face the 4-to-6 feet wide barrier between us and the next row. As 7 year olds, standing just under 4.5 feet tall and 35 pounds soaking wet, naturally the jump seemed like it would be a piece of cake for both of us. We'd take our leap, land on the other side, and take off running again. Repeating this over and over.

Occasionally, we would give ourselves an added challenge. Andrea's older brother sometimes thought we were cool enough to join on the hay bales. Being taller than us, and much bigger, he would stretch himself across the gap in the hay with only his feet and arms holding him up. Andrea and I would take turns using him like a bridge to get to the next row of bales. (And we wonder why he rarely joined us outside?!) Another challenge accomplished! We were unstoppable. Until winter came and our jungle gym became cud for the cows to chew.

Every once in a while, or quite often, I yearn for those simple times once again.

Teaching college friends from the city how to jump hay bales.