Hay, It’s A Living Morrison Family Thrives During Harvest

Bryan Morrison races against time every summer from the seat of his bale hauler.

The family’s hay crop needs harvesting.

Damaging rain can fall, like it did this week, or the uncut hay could get too mature and lose its value.

The job is full of risks, but Morrison isn’t worried.

“I love the work,” said the 26-year-old farmer. “I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

Morrison is the fourth generation of Morrison men to work the 700-acre family ranch on the Saltese Flats near Liberty Lake. He labors alongside his father, Bud Morrison, in fields first tilled by their grandparents in the 1890s.

Theirs is the largest hay ranch in Spokane County.

As hard and long as the hours may be, there’s something comforting in the native beauty here.

Saltese Flats is an old lake bed rich in nutrients. The ground water is a few feet below the surface. The result is a landscape deep in green set against the bluish forests of Mica Peak and an even bluer sky.

Timothy grass grows to six feet here, and its that kind of hay for which the Morrisons are known.

Most of their customers are horse owners and they can be a picky bunch.

“Everything I’ve gotten from them is good. That’s why I keep coming back,” said one horse owner who bought several tons of alfalfa hay this week.

In addition to the family property, the Morrisons farm another 500 acres of adjacent leased land.

When summer comes, the Morrisons cut and bale 15 hours a day. They expect to put up some 4,000 tons of timothy and alfalfa by the time they are done. Three hired hands help.

For them, sore arms and tired backs are a thing of the past. Making hay on a modern farm is a highly mechanized job done with $80,000 tractors.

One machine mows the crop and lays it in narrow rows. Another fluffs the grass so it dries more quickly in the sun. Then, the baler comes through three days later, followed by the bale hauler.

“We don’t touch these bales,” said Bud Morrison. Nearly everything is done by machine.

Larry Boshear, who lives near Newman Lake, has the job of mowing the timothy grass. The best time to cut it is right when the seed head emerges and releases its pollen.

“You want the pollen to be flying, and it’s flying right now,” he said as he jumped back in the cab of the tractor and headed down the field, a yellow cloud rising all around the clanking machine.

“It’s kind of a perishable crop,” said Bud Morrison. “When the stuff’s ready to cut, we cut it.”

Let it grow for too long and the grass leaves turn brown. Customers don’t want that.

Years ago, they grew oats and other grains, but they switched to hay as markets for it improved.

Last year, they got $185 a ton for their timothy from a big dealer in Ellensburg, a town Bud Morrison dubs the hay capital of the Northwest. From there, his hay was shipped across the country, probably to horse tracks. Some of it may have gone to Japan, he said.

The Morrisons sold so much hay last year, they ran out. To keep their local customers supplied through the winter, they hauled in load after load by semitruck from the Columbia Basin.

Customers line up 10 to 15 trucks at a time during the winter. In a good week, the Morrisons sell more than 100 tons. A lot of horse owners don’t have barns, so they need a year-round outlet.

A college business graduate, Bryan Morrison is helping his father diversify their the family operation.

The diversity will help them weather the inevitable troubles with bad weather and low prices, ensuring long-term profitability.

In one venture, the family is skimming some of the peatlike topsoil from the ancient lake bed and selling it as a landscaping material.

The family also is starting a cattle operation. Bud Morrison ran a feedlot years ago but quit when cattle prices dropped. Prices have stabilized and should go up again, he said.

This year, the Morrisons have stacked hundreds of tons of alfalfa damaged by June rains. Most of the bad hay stands in huge piles. Other bales simply were left in the field.

Bad hay can be sold as cattle feed but doesn’t command the price of undamaged hay.

“We have to have something to feed all this bad hay to,” said Bryan Morrison about the decision to start a cattle herd.

To store the good hay, the Morrisons built an open-sided pole barn measuring 225 feet by 100 feet. Once the hay is baled, it is put under cover immediately.

“If it gets a little sprinkle on it, it’s done,” said Bud Morrison.

He and his son are proud of their self-sufficiency. They refuse to get involved in government programs that offer cash payments not to grow crops such as wheat.

“I am dead set against these subsidies,” he said.

The Morrisons believe in hard work and the common sense rooted in their past.

Just like the old days, work has

been inseparable from the life of the family, even in bad times.

When Bud Morrison was 18 years old and away at college, his only brother was killed in a tractor accident a short distance from the current hay barn.

Bryan Morrison, a tall strong man, is his only son out of four children.

“It’s kind of nice having him home,” said Bud Morrison, a person not prone to revealing his feelings. He quickly added, “More than nice.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 2 Photos (1 Color)