Scared stiff

Editor's Note: This column appeared in a past edition of the Daily Mail.

There have been many disasters the past few years. Hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, and of course, lest we forget, the Mayan's have predicted the end of the world in 2012. It's enough to make one "scared stiff."

My first memory of being truly terrified occurred in my grandfather's hay barn. That barn, which is now long gone, was located on the northeast corner of the intersection of Highway 71, and the main street into Milo.

I was probably no older than three years. Back then the barn seemed to me to be a very immense structure. To my surprise in later years, I realized it was only a modestly sized barn.

One summer, my father and several hay hands were unloading and stacking bales in that barn. I am not sure why they had me along with them, but at that time, most families hardly ever knew or used the term "babysitter." It was not uncommon for kids to be along.

My memory is getting worse all the time, trying to remember the past, but some memories like this one from long ago, even now remain quite clear. That is an age thing I suspect. I can't remember where I left my cell phone, but I can still recall my best friend's phone number from our childhood days, from 50 years ago.

In any case, I can clearly recall, that barn, and the work those men were doing, putting up hay. The first and most vivid of the memories was the smell of freshly cut prairie hay. This particular scent has played an important part in my life. A few years later, I was to discover, that I suffered from the malady known as "hay fever." With treatment from a specialist and age, I have outgrown most of my allergy issues.

The second vivid memory was of the men and their hay hooks. I was transfixed watching them as they swung those hay hooks. One man was on the hay wagon, and he was dragging bales of hay towards the back of the wagon, where other men took turns, hooking another bale.

They would then hoist the bale in different ways. Some of the men secured the bale with their hook in one hand, and grabbed the bale wire, with the other. They would carry the bale in front of them as they continued to stack it in the barn. Some of the men would swing the bale upwards with seeming ease, and actually carry it on their shoulder.

Regardless of the manner they chose to haul the bales, they all were headed for the same destination. The barn was not quite half full, but even to a kid as young as me, it was easy to see the plan they had in mind.

In the far end of the barn, the hay was being stacked vertically, toward the rafters of the barn, in a manner that resembled a stairway. The men would pass their bales to others on a higher level, until they reached the highest rows.

Those very top rows seemed ever so high to a kid my age. I discovered, that with a little effort, I could climb on top of a bale, regain my footing, and then ascend another.

No one seemed to be paying much attention to me, and I wanted to see what it looked like from those distant high rows. I have no idea how close to the very top of the barn I was able to climb, but at some point, I stopped climbing, turned around, and peered back to the barn floor.

Scared stiff, are words that barely seem adequate even now, to describe the terror that suddenly came over me. From where I had climbed, to my young mind, it was akin to gazing down the side of a great mountain.

I don't remember when I collapsed, or realized that I was physically shaking, in abject terror. Eventually, I was able to calm down enough to search until I saw my father. I tried to yell, but my voice seemed to have disappeared. Finally, he turned and looked in my direction. My entire being was instantly flooded with a sense of relief.

That did not last long. He called up to me, shouting, "you need to climb down, we are just about done with this load." "But dad," I cried back, "I don't think I can make it, come get me."

"You climbed up there, you climb down!" I was not even sure I could stand up, much less climb. I just sat there a minute or two, wondering if he was really going to leave me.

After a while, I realized that he was serious, and that if I was to get down, I was on my own. Tentatively, I turned around and gently reached one leg downwards in the direction of the next bale. At each step, I maintained a death grip on the wire, from whatever bale I was passing.

After descending a couple of rows, I gained a bit of confidence, and made it all the way to the bottom. My fear appeared to have vanished, and I actually managed to garner some sense of pride in my achievement.

Life is a lot like my experience in that hay barn. Each day when we rise, we realize that there is danger out there that could make this our last day.

Some people are so petrified by the possibility of danger or death, that like my experience in the barn, they just sit in fear, refusing to take any risk.

The only truth is that life is never easy or safe. We are all going to die at some point. It is that other life guarantee, along with taxes. What is important is to face life bravely each day. Living in constant fear, is not living. All we can do is to be brave, and just keep making our way to the bottom of every hay pile.