Make Hay While the Sun Shines
For three solid days, I fixated on grass—not the kind you’re thinking. If left uncut, Kentucky bluegrass grows tall like billowy green wheat, and once harvested, the hay can feed livestock all winter. Hay bales are nothing new to Kentucky. This time of year, they overtake the rural landscape like big hair rollers on a sandy-blonde pageant queen. But for some odd reason, for three sun-filled days, I was obsessed with them, and I tracked the four-part harvesting process like a reporter for the New York Times.
Maybe my fascination was because the farm where I live was growing and harvesting hay for the first time. Throughout spring, the grass grew steadily without much notice until one day, it became a dusty underworld my dogs dropped into, disappearing like children in a corn maze.
Then the tractors showed up. Huge disc mowers flattened the fields as fast as a summer buzzcut. The rotary tedders loosened and tossed the cut grass preparing it for the swirling forks that built lumpy windrows, queued up and waiting for the final step—baling. When the round bales began popping up in the fields where I walk, I had to act quickly because the novelty was not my itch. There was a metaphor I needed to chase, and I was running out of time.
I wanted to tell a story. I had pictures of the cutting, tedding, windrowing, and baling, but the one I did not have was the before when the hay was hip-high soft shag stretching between fences. I rushed to the top of the farm to the most distant field, hoping the mowers had not reached it yet, but on the two sunny days they had been working lightning-fast, the tall grass was gone—I had missed my opportunity.
I asked one of the guys on the crew if there was any uncut grass on the farm. He said, “I don’t think so. They’ve been gettin’ after it.”
I replied, “Make hay while the sun shines.”
He nodded. “Now, that’s the truth.”
Make hay while the sun shines is an English proverb that likely originates from medieval farmers, which means making the most out of a favorable situation while it lasts.
There are gobs of expressions in the English language that speak to taking advantage of opportunity when it presents itself, like:
Strike while the iron’s hot.
Time is of the essence.
Capitalize on an advantage.
Every second counts.
Grab the chance.
Seize the day.
The window of opportunity.
But making hay when the sun shines has more urgency. After all, it involves the weather, which means erraticism or chaos, so whatever your chance is, you better hurry. The expression does not require a degree in linguistics to understand, but following the advice and living it is not so simple. What does opportunity look like, and how long will it last?
Some sit and watch the sun come and go, perhaps too distracted or lacking in confidence to step out of the shade. Others are lucky to live on life’s golden carousel and assume they have all the time in the world to grab the brass ring until one day they reach for it and it is gone. Some see the window open but choose not to climb through it because maybe they are tired, afraid, or not interested in the stress of change, even if the odds are favorable.
Which camp are you in? Are you a make hay while the sun shines person or an I’m cool-staying-put person? I land in the hay-making camp, especially if it means sustaining livestock or learning something new.
Admittedly, there are a few itchy points about “harvesting hay:”
1. The threat of rain makes me nervous.
2. The process is highly exacting
3. I wonder about the sun. Do we have to wait for it to shine?
Some of us don’t wait. We seek opportunities because we are curious, enjoy a challenge, or can’t sit still. But perhaps we aren’t great at reading the directions or understanding the process. We roll before we fluff, so we have to unroll and fluff and roll it up again, and it rains right in the middle of all that. And what happens if we are eager but late to the harvest? Is the hay ruined, or is there still a chance for some meaningful sustenance?
For example— I started writing late in the season. I do not have an MFA. I queried before doing my research. I have rolled, tedded, and baled in reverse order and then started over again. Now that book publication is on the horizon, I can giggle a little at my misadventures, but the hay harvest has made me think about opportunity and timing.
I spoke with an author who has published over fifty novels, and she shared an interesting perspective. First, she told me ten head-spinning things I needed to do to market my book. Next, she said I should savor this time and that the beginning is the fun part. I laughed and said thank you, but I wasn’t worried about too much success.
When I hung up with her, I thought about the hay again. It does not fear age, stage, or the four-part process, and while it requires a dry, sunny, solid three days for the well-executed harvest, without the spring rains, it would never have grown at all.