Thoughts on spreading some back end product
Toolbox
Burr Morse - Published: November 23, 2009
'Tis the season, the season of spreading good will on earth, and although Christmas is just around the corner, I'm talkin' about something much less sacred but important nonetheless: whittling down the old manure supply. Yup, if you're a farmer in Vermont, it's time to spread it on the earth and it's going to take a pile of "good will" because of the way it smells!
These days farmers are under the gun for disposal of what we used to fling about liberally any day of the year. They store it in huge containers called "lagoons," mix it with water, and spread it in giant trucks with very dirty backsides. The other day I knew they were spreading in the neighborhood long before I saw the big rigs out on our fields. Yes siree, there's nothing that'll clear the old sinuses better'n a good whiff of liquid manure!
The business of spreading in the neighborhood is pretty complicated these days. Farmers have to store it just right, keep it away from brooks and rivers, and get it spread before a certain cutoff date; spreading on winter's frozen ground these days bears penalties "piled higher and deeper" than murder and extortion. I recently Googled "manure laws" to check my facts and found such volumes of red tape that it left my mouth agape and, once again, left me pining for the good old days.
Manure shouldn't be that complicated. First of all there are certain simple tenets to accept: "It" happens, life is full of "it," and "it" must always be conveyed to a spinning object, like a sludge pump impeller or a set of beaters to be broken into small particles that are flung out onto the countryside. Hence, "it" hits the fan. I can remember when the biggest complication of spreading, in fact, was driving with crossed fingers (frozen in the winter) in hopes that it would somehow stave off a breakdown of the spreader. Anyone who has ever shoveled manure out of a broken spreader and then repaired it surely knows what I mean!
The traditional spreader is based on a simple principle: a rugged "apron chain" inches manure along the spreader's bed and into the spinning beater where, you guessed right, "it" hits the fan. That old spreader design served farmers very well clear from "horse-drawn" days to when those water-based pumpers recently came in. Nobody ever tried to improve upon that design…that is, till my brother, Elliott, woke up one morning with a "power to the pile" attitude and a design in his head that would revolutionize the world of spreading. Being a genius with things mechanical, Elliott realized the apron chain was the spreader's weak link. His design was based on gravity; instead of inching the heavy stuff backward along a level plane, Elliott's new spreader would dump hydraulically to deliver material to the beaters.
He went to work in the farm shop one January morning and after a whole winter of welding, banging, and cussin', emerged in the spring with this thing that looked like a cross between a dump truck and a wolverine. It hitched to a tractor via a rugged framework that carried a power takeoff shaft from the tractor to a truck transmission. The transmission somehow directed power to a hydraulic pump which raised a dump truck bed and two car tires which, when inflated, matched each other like gears and activated a vicious set of beaters. The thing would have made Rube Goldberg slap his knees, but was doomed by a problem Elliott missed and, undoubtedly, ol' Rube would have, too: the dietary function of 50 dairy cows.
You see, in the summer when cows are out on green grass, their manure is rather, shall we say, "runny." When Elliott loaded up with that stuff and threw his dumper into gear, the whole load poured out quicker than, well, "it" through a sieve. Winter, on the other hand, brought just the opposite problem, cows were locked in the barn and ate dry hay which resulted in manure that wouldn't slide out at the steepest angle. Elliott finally "threw in the towel" one winter day when his load, besides being firm, had sat outside too long and was frozen solid. He raised the dumper to its steepest angle, threw the beaters in gear, and started pounding on the frozen mass with a sledge hammer. He should have suspected trouble ahead when large, frozen chunks broke away but suddenly the whole load busted loose at once. Elliott said the thing sounded like a Gatling gun as he ran for cover, dodging shrapnel from the shattering beaters. He looked back to see the two car tires "smokin'" toward the valley and within seconds, his revolutionary new spreader was history.
We usually don't think of Vermont's four seasons in terms of cow diets and manure laws but it's all part of life here now. Farms are bigger and folks worry about the quality of our lakes and streams. These days we should all hope "manure worries" continue, though; farmers are hurting financially and going out of business. If they all go, l'll sure miss the pungent odor of modern-day spreading in the neighborhood, the good old days of clickity-clacking spreaders, and even the occasional break down. After all, "it" happens and life must go on.
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