Cliff’s hay barn had a wide drive bay for storing the tractors, plows and other farming equipment. On both sides of the drive bay were bales of hay stacked high to the ceiling. Thick ropes on pulleys hung from the rafters to the drive bay floor. Lee, Doug, John and I often played in Cliff’s barn. Cliff was a gentle man who loved his cows, farm and children. He allowed us free range of his barns and pastures. We would climb the stacked hay and swing on the ropes to the other side of the drive bay. Didn’t always make it to the other side. Just get up, brush the hay and straw off, and try again.

One day we all decided to go way up to the top of the stacked hay to tell ghost stories. Sitting deep in the bales of hay with little sunlight we told ghost stories. We were probably 11, 10, 9 and 5 years old. Each taking turns trying to tell the scariest story. I can’t remember who told the story or even what the story was, but it scared the living daylights out of us. Screaming and scrambling over the bales, getting scratched by the stiff dry hay we ran for safety of the open air and bright sunlight, away from the spooks hiding in the hayloft. Once out and safe, we laughed and tried to prove to each other that we really were not scared. To this day I still love a good ghost story.