Haying 3 precarious bridging of loose planks and boards onto the barn floor and to a sudden stop inside. During this latter ritual the whole barn trembled, but the cargo was home at last like a ship in harbor after a choppy sea. Hoisting the hay from the wagon with block and tackle was a ritual of no small solemnity, with neither actors nor actions changing much from year to year. Without question, Jimmy's place was on the load, spearing each lift with a spindly hayfork. His signal given, one of us youngsters then drove the horse, hooked to the large hay rope, toward a certain post in the orchard fence, thus hoisting the lift to the high rafters above. Dad's place was on the loft from where he and a helper steered the lift and gave Jimmy the signal to trip the fork, dumping its contents in the desired position. From there, a slight amount of forking and tramping was sufficient to stow the hay evenly. Meanwhile the lad with the horse had to scamper to pull back the heavy rope to the barn door to prepare for another round of hoisting. With the wagon emptied, all hands religiously sought out a drink of water or lemonade before returning to the field for another load to repeat the process.