September 2007 NEWSLETTER

"Just Cut the Dang Strings!"
by Chad Hymas

Is it impossible?
Is it too much?
Is it overwhelming?
Are there too many?
Is it too complicated?
Is it is too big?
Is it too heavy?

My face is pressed tight against metal and broken glass.  Suffocating hay dust and exhaust fumes fill my nose and mouth and the thick, salty taste of blood covers my swollen tongue as I struggle to breathe.

Like the monstrous heel of some giant entity, a two thousand pound bale of hay grinds my face mercilessly against the control panel of my tractor.  I try to lift my hand to clear a way for me to breathe, but where is my hand?  Where is my body?  Where am I?  Why can't I move?

Moments ago, I was loading a one-ton bale of hay with a front end loader mounted on my old tractor.  I felt the hydraulics jerk spasmodically, which meant I needed to add hydraulic fluid.  I didn't have time.  I was in a hurry to get home.  And now I am not going anywhere as that 2,000 pound bale of hay presses my face mercilessly into the shattered control panel of the idling tractor.

I breathe as deeply as my swollen tongue and this crushing weight will allow: one, two, three, four, five' I count each breath!

How much time has passed?  A day?  A week?  Eternity? 

Red and blue flashing lights.  Running feet grind on the dirt and gravel.  Finally help has arrived!  A police officer shines his flashlight up under the hay, and switches off the engine.  The second officer reaches under the one-ton bale of hay and attempts to lift it off of me.  Of course, it won't budge.

Lift Joe, lift, he grunts. 

Just cut the strings, I thought.

Cmon!  Harder,' he insists.

No, just cut the strings!  Hay is grass.  Grass is light.  Cut the strings. Let it fall off me. HURRY'

Its too heavy!  We can't lift it,' his partner wisely observes.

Of course its too heavy, why do you think I was using a 100 horsepower tractor!  Just cut the strings!'

It's too much! What are we going to do?  Chad can't last much longer.'

Dear God, they need your wisdom. Tell them to just cut the strings.'

Hang on Chad, more help is on the way!

Oh, good grief, why don't you just cut the strings.  The hay will fall apart and I will be free.  Okay, I'll start counting breaths again.

It is now 7:30 p.m. Tuesday, April 3, 2001. A perfect spring day in the semi-desert plains of Central Utah, on a beautiful ranch laid out like a carpet between the two snow covered walls of the Wasatch and Oquirrh mountains.  An hour earlier I was in a hurry to get home to my family

The front end loader on my old tractor stretches 15 feet into the evening sky and snags a one ton bale of hay from the top of the pile. As I manipulate the hydraulic controls to lift the hay clear, the bucket jerks and the bale slips off the loader and back onto the stack.

I realize that my tractor is low on hydraulic fluid. I could change it, but that will take too long.  My wife, Shondell has called me and told me to get home so I can see my one-year-old taking his first steps.

I try again.  If finesse won't do it, force will, right?  This time, though, instead of falling back onto the stack, the opposing hydraulics give-in the opposite direction. The bale breaks free, flipping backwards. It forces my head through the steering wheel, crushing my mouth and nose against the control panel.

My body goes instantly and completely numb.  I can't feel my feet, legs, or hands ' nothing. I can't speak. I can barely breathe.  Five Six Seven

Held captive under 2,000 pounds of alfalfa hay, I struggle for each breath.  It grows darker.  I grow weaker.  Wonderful painless, peaceful, irresistible sleep beckons' I begin to slip out of consciousness.

No!  I can't allow myself to go to sleep. I have to breathe.  I need to focus.  Where are they?  How long does it take for the police, fire, ambulance, to arrive?  Where is that one old farmer with sense enough to just cut the strings?   

Help finally arrives.  Now there are two big strong cops and six firemen.  That's still about 245 pounds of hay each, but they managed to roll the bale off me and I collapse in a broken heap to the dirt and gravel below.

Okay, maybe I am being a little hard on the guys who saved my bacon that night.  But there is a point to this story, isn't there!?

Is it impossible? Then cut the strings.  Is it overwhelming?  Then cut the strings.  Is it too heavy?  Then cut the strings.  Is there too much?  Then cut the strings.  Is it too big?  Then cut the strings.  Are there too many?  Then cut the strings.  Is it too complicated?  Then cut the strings.  Is it a crushing burden?

Then just cut the dang strings for Pete's sake!

You have heard it said that you can eat an elephant one bite at a time.  It isn't the individual problems you can't handle, it is the combination that is killing you.  Here is a simple solution (does it seem too simple?)

Take things one at a time.  Cut the strings and cut yourself free.

Until Next Month, Believe you can Fly...