We use cookies to provide you with a better experience. By continuing to browse the site you are agreeing to our use of cookies in accordance with our Cookie Policy.
“Rudolph,” the white truck with the red fiberglass hood, and I were northbound on U.S. Highway 93 between Ely, Nevada, and Twin Falls, Idaho, running bareback, or bobtail, after dropping a pair of van trailers at Kennon’s new hay ranch by Nyala, Nevada. It was quite the move from central Washington state.
While harvest slows down and cooler temperatures take over, the hay market is also showing some frosty edges. As they 2023 growing season comes to an end, we have a better idea of hay stores and what we have to deal with going into the winter months. Take a closer look at what prices and conditions are in each region in the Progressive Forage Forage Market Insights column as of Oct. 9, 2024.
With hay prices ranging from $95 per ton for Grade 1 (125 to 150 relative feed quality [RFQ]) round bales to $190 per ton for Prime (greater than 151 RFQ) large square bales, hay is a valuable commodity on farms. We already have the labor and expense into producing the hay, but storage and feeding have a great deal to do with how much of harvested hay is actually consumed by animals.
During the winter months when fresh forage on pastures is unavailable to most cow-calf producers, they typically turn to feeding one low-quality forage with a protein supplement. In Nebraska and other states where corn is a commonly grown commodity crop, many producers use grazing cornstalks as their low-quality forage source.
“Follow the yellow brick road.” The line from the famous Wizard of Oz isn’t new to most of us, but I think the way we view it changes throughout our life. As a child, when I first heard or read that line, I was so relieved for young Dorothy that her journey seemed so easy.
It was late afternoon on an early September day. Just a hint of fall hung in the air as I jumped my horse up into the trailer, a light fog of defeatism looming over me like the gray of the smoke from so many western wildfires that enveloped everything for hundreds of miles.
It was a Sunday afternoon. I was 10 or 11. I had been playing in the backyard with a neighbor kid. I noticed my face feeling funny and my eyes starting to itch. My friend said I looked funny, so I went inside. My mother asked what in the world I had gotten into to make my face all puffy. I didn’t know.
RSS
