A special bale of hay

Toni Lucas

We all have special moments of serendipity in our lives.  We may recognize them instantly or look back on them and say, 'That was a moment!"

How do you feel on February the fifteenth?  Many can regale their friends with tales of romance and thoughtfulness.  Others shake their heads with doleful faces, or wry smiles.  We often find out just how far off the mark, or in sync we are with our partner on the day before.  Then many of us share those feelings and stories with our other loved ones on the fifteenth.  We call our sisters, let mom know, talk at the coffee break at work.  We arrange to go out with our best friends at lunch.  Women re-hash the experience.  No-one wants to have  the worst experience of the "most romantic" day of the year, but if you don't have the best...


I was in a marriage with someone that was both self absorbed, and chronically busy.  I had high hopes that I would be able to have shining memories of a spectacularly romantic occasion.  After all, I had orchestrated it myself.  All he had to do was show up at home, and show a half an ounce of appreciation for me.  By nine thirty in the evening I accepted that that wasn't going to happen.  I was in a fit of fury, as one phone call from this clod of a husband to say when he actually was coming through the door would have allowed me to rearrange the plans so that my fairy tale dinner would have still taken place.  I tried, but couldn't get in touch with him.  When he did walk in, we had a colossal fight.  He walked out, leaving me in an apartment filled with shattered illusions.  Neither one of us felt loved appreciated, celebrated or special.  It was an night of stony silence punctuated with vivid accusations and florid language when he did come back, well after last call.  That was my tale for the fifteenth.

My best friend Chris was up for the 15th, and I was up for his company and a male point of view.  We got into his truck and I asked him if he was up for a looonng drive.  He listened to my tale of woe for miles.  The city 'cretescape gave way to suburbia, then to acreages, then rolling farms as we made our way.  I vented.  I sobbed.  I recounted every misdeed of the entire relationship, and all my doubts, and fears.  He listened, commiserated, and told me when I was out of line.

I had to concede that I had not asked my husband to come home from work, and usually didn't complain if he didn't.  Nor was he told of the special romantic dinner as it was a surprise.  Why was he to blame for not living up to expectations, when he wasn't told what those expectations were?  Touche.  Score one for the male team.  He jollied me up, pointed out where I may have been blowing things out of proportion.  He agreed that some things were out of line in my relationship, and had some suggestions on how to approach the problems with the marriage to negotiate for change, rather than give up on either the marriage or my personal self worth.  He reminded me of all the good things that I actually did love about the "soul crushing bastard" that I had married.  He got me to laugh, reorganize my thoughts and feel better about facing up to being an adult in an adult relationship and trying to make it work.  Then I asked him about his Valentines day.  He said that he wanted to call a moratorium on the subject for a while, as I had it too emotional charged.

We drove in the relative pastoral countryside, enjoying the scenery.  We talked about the changes in the landscape. Where we were at that moment was once open field with poor farms many miles apart.  Now it was wealthy mansions half a mile apart, with little evidence of farming nearby.  We made note of the beautiful wide blue sky, the scuttling clouds, the sculptured drifts of snow, and windswept frosty grasses.  We both wished that we had grabbed a camera, as it truly was a picturesque day.  The vibe changed, got more peaceful and introspective. We were enjoying each others company pointing out little treasures to the other.  We were at about a half tank of gas, so decided that this was to be the last road to go down before heading back to the city.

I don't remember which one of us saw it first.  Many of the nouveau non-farmers liked to have a farm feel around their 2-7 million dollar houses with the sauna, hot tub, indoor pool and wine cellar.  They would often have a piece of farm equipment or some such marking the entrance to the drive in.  Maybe it also helped when giving directions.  "Mine is the BLUE tractor at the entrance 3 miles from the turn off."  This couple had opted for a round hay bale by the gate.  I have seen many a hay bale, round and rectangular.  I have even seen sheaves of grain, hand tied.  I have seen them with bulls-eyes painted or hung on them for target practice, both gun and archery.  I have seen them broken and reclaimed by the wind and fields.  I had never seen one like this.  On its round end was painted a giant red heart outlined in a steady black line.  Just exactly what you would see doodled on a notepad of someone in the first poignant pangs of puppy love.  Only it filled the end of a six and a half foot bale.  In February.  The day after Valentines.  Someone had proof of their spouse's love.  I wondered if whoever did it had done it on the day, or weeks ahead.

The romance of it was a punch to my stomach.  Every day on coming home would be this reminder of special feelings and effort that this person had for the other.  I did not know if my marriage would make it through the next day, and this couple, or perhaps family was in a blissful cocoon of love.  I could envision happy moments by the fireplace, cheerful chatter while preparing meals together.  I ached to be in their position.  Filled with emptiness, I asked that we turn around a go back.  Chris, sensing my mood, did not comment and went to the nearest safe place to turn around.  Their driveway, just a few yards past this bale.

The three-sixty almost complete, We heard a strange grinding sound and the truck stopped.  Dead.  We were now facing the other side of the bale.  This side was what the owners would see upon leaving their love nest.  It had many, many hearts, stacked one inside the other, each in a different color.  After trying to start the truck a number of times with no success, Chris got out and tried to see if there was anything obvious that could be set right easily.  When he got back in,  I could tell by the look on his face that there was no hope that his mechanical abilities were going to get us out of this mess.  He looked at me.  One of us commented that we could not have choose a better place to pull the "Uh, oh, it looks like we're out of gas..."  as a romantic ploy.  He shook out a cigarette, and we tried to collectively come up with a way out of this mess.  It was a surreal dreamscape, like a movie set of an independent film.  We tried to make light of the situation, but the humor was much more anemic than our usual banter.  We each had a smoke, and stared ahead at the bale.

"You asked about my Valentines Day.  This is it.  This is as romantic as it has gotten for me all year.  I'm in a broke down truck with a beautiful lady, with a huge valentines card in front of me.  I must have had a dozen friends tell me how their Big Day went, but at least they had one.  They had someone to complain about.  Do you have any idea how long it has been since I have been on a date?  How empty life can feel when you go home to an empty apartment, an empty bed?  To not know when or if you will ever find someone to share all those special and mundane moments with?"  I listened quietly as he got all of his post Valentines day angst out in the open. "You are upset that your husband treated yesterday as he treats every other day.  I'm upset that the both of you don't grow up.  You both should try to find a little more love and comfort in each other.  You're one of the lucky ones.  This bale give me hope.  It shows me that love can be found, and nurtured in this world still.  That people still listen to silly love songs, show each other kindness and consideration, respect and love.  This filled me with pure joy when I saw it.  I'm glad that we came down this road, as this made it a year with a  Valentines day in it for me."  He spoke of what he wanted in a relationship, yet could not seem to find.  He talked about what worked and didn't with couples that he had known.  As he wound down, the wind whistled a deafening quiet around the truck.

He once again turned the key, and this time the engine apologetically coughed to life.   As if on cue, knowing that we had said the things that we had to say,  it allowed us to leave under our own power.  We started to laugh and talked, sang, and debated all the way home.

P.S.  My marriage did not last.  I eventually had to give up on a marriage that treated me painfully as a matter of course.  I fell in love with my best friend.  Of the two Valentines days of that year for me, the 14, and 15, the 15 and the romantic bale of hay with the broken truck was and will remain the Valentines Day for me.

Here is hoping Valentine's day brings you joy, instead of grief.