THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, July 14, 1995 TAG: 9507120160
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 14 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SOURCE: BY SUSAN W. SMITH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 149 lines
``IT'S BETTER THAN working out at the gym,'' said Aaron Beatson, 17, about his summer job of stacking bales of wheat straw at Green Ridge Farm. ``You lift, stretch, pump, bend and sweat.''
Beatson and his five teenage co-workers work a 10-hour day in the July heat, storing 25-pound bales of straw in barns.
It's hot, uncomfortable work, but the boys enjoy working outside with their friends.
``It sure beats flipping burgers,'' added Troy Davis, 17.
On one recent workday, the sky was clear and blue after several days of clouds and rain. The dew burned off early as the morning temperature already hovered near 90 degrees with only an occasional breeze.
``There have to be days of continuous hot, dry weather to put up a successful crop of wheat straw,'' said Richard Rhodes of the Agriculture Extension Office. ``Straw production is much more popular in the western part of the state. It is a minor crop here because of the frequent rain.''
But to Debbie and Mark Convoy of Green Ridge Farms, straw is an important crop. They have only about three weeks every summer to fill their barns with 25,000 bales.
Neighboring farmers plant wheat, harvest the tops and leave the stems in the field. The Convoys harvest and bale the stems from about 100 acres for wheat straw. The straw is used for animal bedding and by contractors and landscapers to protect newly seeded areas and to prevent erosion.
The Convoys' customers go straight to the barn door to make their purchases. One customer arrived to pick up several bales for her pony's stall as a tractor-trailer rig pulled in behind her to load 750 bales for a local commercial supplier.
Inside the tin-roofed barn, the temperature was 10 degrees higher than outside. Dust and chaff swirled in the heat.
``OK, guys, here it comes,'' shouted Davis as he pulled on thick gloves.
The roar of a tractor engine headed for the barn signaled the start of the workday. The tractor pulled a large metal basket packed with straw freshly cut and baled.
The tractor slowly backed its cargo into the barn. Andy Revell, 17, jumped onto the tongue of the trailer and released the lever to open the rear basket hatch.
Thump! Thump! Thump! The bales began to tumble out onto the barn floor.
``Go for it,'' shouted Jason Bishop to the driver. Bishop, 15, was the old-timer on this job. It was his second season stacking.
The driver lurched the tractor forward and then slammed on the brakes, jolting dozens of bales out of the basket. Three more times the driver repeated this maneuver until all 125 bales were unloaded. Then he headed back to the field for more.
Down the road and around the curve, Mark and his crew kept tractors, balers and baskets moving. The tractors pulled the balers, which cut, scooped, compacted and tied each bale before shooting it into the basket. When the basket was full, it was time to go to the barn again.
With assembly-line precision, the shirtless boys pulled on gloves and took their places. Revell and Scott Dustan, 19, climbed to the rafters of the barn. Beatson and Aaron Curles, 16, manned the middle loft, while Davis and Bishop remained below. The two ground crewmen loaded bale after bale onto a yellow conveyer belt that transported them to the loft.
Curles gripped a bale as it arrived at the end of the ride, heaved it over his head and tossed it up to Revell. Beatson grabbed it and passed it up to Dustan. The stack of bales grew higher, row by row.
``Hold up! Hold up!'' Beatson shouted to the ground team when the bales began to arrive more quickly than they could be stacked.
``Don't forget the fish-flavored treats,'' reminded Bishop, as he tossed small plastic bags of green nuggets up to Revell and Dustan. The bags contained rat poison to prevent rodents from nesting in the straw.
Loose straw floated through the air, covering the workers until they looked like scarecrows. Soon their arms were cut and scratched from the dry, rough straw and beads of sweat formed silver mustaches on their lips.
Lift, hoist, toss and spit. Spitting was a part of the job that seemed to come naturally.
``It's because of the dust and stuff that's constantly in the air,'' explained Davis. ``It gets in your ears, mouth and nose. I can still taste it long after I've gone home and cleaned up.''
Without missing a bale, the boys talked about girls, the beach at Nags Head, girls, surfing, girls, money and girls. When the last bale was stashed in place, they took a water break and leaned back against the bales. Revell grabbed a pitchfork and raked up the the straw that covered the floor.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Another load of bales tumbled to the floor of the barn.
``This business snowballed,'' explained Debbie Convoy. ``In 1987 we started out here because we wanted a place in the country. Then we planted hay. That led to needing a barn.''
Now the Convoys have a 45-acre, full-time working farm with five barns, horses, sheep, dogs, cats and a goat named Pickles. Besides their own hay and straw, they ship in hay and wood shavings from Canada and Iowa for resale.
As a sideline, they operate a small store, where they sell horse, dog, rabbit, chicken and pigeon food as well as vitamins, wormers, medicated soap, fly spray and mane conditioner.
Striped bass is their newest endeavor. The Convoys stocked a new pond with finger-size bass and, by next spring, they will be ready to sell to local restaurants for fresh bass dinners.
Word-of-mouth advertising is usually all that's necessary to recruit boys to stack bales of straw. The job pays about $5 an hour. There is no work when it rains and sometimes there are short days when they finish baling a field early.
``Some boys work one day and we never see them again,'' Convoy said. ``This year it has been a good dependable group, eager to work.''
During the day, she stopped frequently to replenish the cooler with drinks and to remind each boy to drink water. She encouraged them to take a break and to stop for lunch. Some days she made Sloppy Joe sandwiches or hot dogs and and other days lunch break was a bag lunch from home.
In the afternoon, there was less chatter as they unloaded the 10th basket. Loose straw was ankle-deep on the floor, as even rows of tightly packed bales filled the top of the barn.
By 4 p.m., sweat ran in dirty rivulets down the workers' faces and bodies. On the next break, Beatson sprawled in the straw for a quick nap. Dustan and Davis grabbed cold drinks and propped on a bale to banter about the merits of Virginia Tech. Bishop persuaded Curles to pull his truck up close so they could have some music.
To the reggae sounds of Bob Marley, Beatson tapped out a quick dance step as they started on the next tier of bales.
``Remember, pain is your friend,'' encouraged Davis as Curles tossed the heavy bales to Beatson and Dustan.
By 6 p.m. the boys' spirits began to revive. Between the next four baskets, there was a quick Frisbee game and even an impromptu soccer game played with a rolled glove.
An hour later the chuck wagon arrived. Through a chorus of thanks, Debbie served fried chicken, mashed potatoes, slaw, biscuits and tea from the hood of her blue station wagon.
With another hour of stacking, the barn was packed from the rafters to the floor. It was quitting time. ILLUSTRATION: Staff photos, including color cover, by STEVE EARLEY
ON THE COVER: Beatson, one of five teenagers in the crew, throws one
more bale on the stack. They have only about three weeks in the
summer to fill the barns with 25,000 bales.
Hay baskets filled with more than 100 bales of straw are brought in
from the fields for stacking by Troy Davis, left, Aaron Beatson and
Aaron Curles.
LEFT: Aaron Curles walks away after loading a straw bale onto a
conveyor belt.
BELOW: Toward the end of a 10-hour day in sweltering heat, Aaron
Beatson, left, and Curles take a break.
Scott Dustin, left, braces for a 25-pound heave by Aaron Curles. The
job pays about $5 an hour, and there is no work when it rains.
by CNB