''Wheatstacks (End of Summer)'' by Monet
Although a haystack is simply a pile of discarded chaff from the wheat harvest, to children and adolescents alike, it used to be an exceptional playground. It is therefore not surprising that Monet, Van Gogh and others were inspired to memorialize the haystacks of old.
Even today, Aiden intuitively presumes that stacks of hay are a playground. Look at the pleasure he gets.
Since traditional haystacks are now extinct (piling bales of hay does not make a haystack), I will provide a brief description of how they were made in Chile from around 1900 to 1960.
Harvesting wheat was a hot, dusty, itchy, and dirty task. The process began with a team of oxen that would pull a device that would cut the wheat stalks and leave them on the ground. The wheat stalks would be bundled and allowed to dry in the field. A few days later all the stalks were gathered with pitchforks and tossed in the back of an oxen pulled cart. Once the cart was heaping full (about 10 feet high) it was driven to the thresher machine. The role of the threshing machine was to separate the wheat kernels from the straw stalks, and if the harvest was abundant, then the corresponding haystack was huge. The following video is true to my memories of threshing http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DZfESGwXqw
In our farm the first thresher was powered by a steam engine, but later a tractor did the job. You could hear the threshing machine from miles, and to be honest, the sound alone scared me. Additionally the workers loved to scare us kids with stories of mutilation and death to careless children around the thresher. 
The only time Uncle Douglas whipped me, was when I was careless and I almost ran the cart into the conveyor belt (as shown in the video). At the time I didn't get what the big deal was. Today after seeing the video, I realize what a pachycephalosaurus I was.
"The Siesta" by Van Gogh
The haystacks we produced were gigantic. In fact, standing on the top of a haystack afforded the best view of the land. I believe this is the true origin of the word “Heyday”. In writing this blog I realized that there are several other expressions that are directly related to this process, such as:
-separate the wheat from the chaff
-finding a needle in a haystack
-rolling in the hay :)
Each day of the harvest, Ema, Grandma, my Mom and all my aunts would cook breakfast and lunch for over 100 people, which they would deliver by horseback.
Douglas Cameron, unknown woman, Rhoda Cameron on a haystack
From a childs point of view, a haystack was a slide, a trampoline, a fort (you could see your enemies from miles away), a place for straw wars, a place to picnic, a place to escape chores and take a nap, a place to read a book, a cave in middle earth (old haystacks were so sturdy, one could carve tunnels or caves, according to your fantasy), etc. In fact many times when visiting neighboring farms, the children would immediately check out their haystacks, and size them up against our own.
The first year a haystack was created it could not be climbed because the haystack had not yet consolidated itself. There were stories of disobedient children climbing on new haystacks, that would fall into pockets were they would suffocate to death.
On a hot summer day, Rhoda, Loyda and Winnie were playing in a haystack that was close to the railroad track. The girls were about 4 or 5 years old, full of innocence and energy (probably as seen in the photographs of the October 30 blog). Anyone who has played in a haystack knows that the longer you play, the itchier you become. So as time goes on, clothes start to fly off. In the midst of all the playing, jumping and screaming, the three girls saw far off in the distance the approaching train. So at the suggestion of one of them and the approval of the the other two they decided to take off the rest of their clothes and wave at the train in the buff. Therefore as the train passed by Santa Catalina, the three gringitas waved, laughed and mooned the Andes bound passengers. One passenger was especially offended: Alexander Cameron could not figure out what had gotten into his granddaughters. The story concludes with fairly placed punishment upon his return.
I have talked to every one of the “chiquillas piluchas” and each one remembered this story slightly different, but when all is said and done, the essence of the story stands. I love this story because it allows me to see Rhoda as a child, and not as the loving and caring Mother she was.
Loyda Cameron, Winnie Contreras Cameron and Rhoda Cameron many years later.
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