I was 16, and had gotten a summer-long job working for a very busy local dairyman. My official job was to cut hay, and in between that do whatever was needed on the dairy. He had a really nice new self-propelled John Deere swather, and being able to spank down huge fields at pretty high speeds, spinning 180° at the ends of the rows, was a huge treat after only using a pull-behind Hesston mower-conditioner. It was sweet, and typically occupied me for 6-7 days straight of 12-15 hour days to knock down about 400 acres of alfalfa, then do it again 28 days later. Other jobs in between included hauling chopped alfalfa to the silo blowers, or even baling or stacking small bales if they needed some baled hay in the barn for winter feeding. “Grandma” always made sure I had a good breakfast (including fried blood sausage every day) before I hit the fields. I worked alone nearly all the time, and one day I was blowing alfalfa haylage up one of the three blue 24’X80′ Harvestore structures. I knew that first unit was nearly full, so I started the electric blower, set the wagon to unload at a reasonable pace, and headed up the 80′ silo to check how it was filling. It was about 6′ from the center hole, and you shouldn’t fill a Harvestore tight full to the top. There are two holes on the top of a Harvestore, one in the center where the product fills, and one nearer the edge that functions both as a ventilation air release and is an access option if you fill tight up to the hole in the center. It was getting close to being filled, and if the flow was stopped even momentarily, the pipe would have plugged immediately, all the way to the ground, and with the blower and wagon running without supervision, there would have been no way for me to have scrambled 80′ down before VERY significant damage was caused to the blower and unloading wagon below. I started in the center with my pitchfork, tossing haylage out toward the sides while the blower kept blowing it in fast, first from outside, on top of the structure, then I scurried down the outside hatch and furiously pulled haylage toward the outside while the blower poured it in the center. There is always the possibility of either running out of oxygen in a silo, and fermentation gases have killed more than a few people who have entered silos. I was 16, ok? Anyway, it was fast and furious work, but in the end, the load finally ran out and I was ok.
So, then what happened?
So I dragged myself out the side hole, back up onto the roof of the Harvestore, and as we were definitely done filling that one, the top needed cleaning off. During filling, dust and chaff and leaves blow and build up on the roof of the unit, and we kept a small push broom up on top just to be able to push the stuff off and clean up a bit. No one ever intended that it would be used while standing outside the protective railings which parallel and encircle the access areas. Yes, let that sink in a minute. Outside the railings. The roof of a Harvestore structure is like the sides – shiny glass fused to steel panels, held together with bolts that have a round-headed cap nut on each one. I know the design down to the threads. So I started out pushing just a little further with each broom push, keeping one hand on the railing and pushing the broom one-handed with the other. Keep in mind that these structures are 24′ in diameter. And I was trying to reach the edges with a standard little push broom. So my 16-year-old brain (having survived the filling scare) let me let go of the railing and put one foot each on the rows of bolt heads proceeding out from the center like radiating wedges. Sweeping ahead of myself worked great for a few minutes. I was proud of my fine cleaning efforts. Until a foot hit a patch of the chaff and my body flipped 90° instantly and made me think I had broken my tailbone. But only for an instant, as I was sliding at breakneck speed toward the edge of the 80′ tall structure, only to have my jeans snagged by a bolt head with both legs hanging over the side. Yes, hanging over the side. Both legs. All by myself. Tractor and blower still running below me.
I just sort of hung there for a minute, contemplating my mortality, then gradually started inching my way backward, creeping back using the row of bolts for traction until I reached the access platform and railing. I went back down the silo, moved the blower to the next unit, and went for the next load, saying nothing to my boss.
Thirty-plus years later, I shared this story privately with my dad when we were talking one day. He stopped me cold, and made me promise that I would NEVER tell this story to my mother. Dad passed away a few years later, and then mom four years after that. I never told her.
Someone was watching out for me that day.