The Very Soggy Hay Day
Bram helps a sleepy tractor and a cheery dumper truck bring the hay in before the rain — but the hay keeps going somewhere funny. A gentle, giggly farmyard wind-down that ends with everyone tucked in as the first raindrops tap the roof.
Made on Nightstory, and shared. The child's name has been changed.
The Sleepy Putt-Putt Down the Valley
Bram was in her cave-home, stacking her trucks in a row — big truck, small truck, one truck with no wheels — when she heard it. Putt... putt... puttttt. Then, quick and busy: Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Bram went still. That was a tractor. That was a dumper truck. That was work. She pulled on her yellow boots over her blue dungarees, zipped her little red jacket, and tucked her triceratops under one arm. Out the door and down the fern path she went, ferns brushing her boots, ferns taller than Bram. The air smelled like wet stones. Gray clouds sat high and quiet, holding everything in. At the bottom of the valley lay the hay meadow, and round hay bales, and a bumpy track, and a red barn with its big doors open wide. Bram climbed onto the meadow gate and looked. The hay was still out. The rain was still coming. Boots on. Ready to help.
Hay on the Track, Hay on the Boots
The tired tractor rumbled up to a hay bale. Its headlights went slow. Its engine went soft. Putt... putt... puttttt... and the tractor fell fast asleep, right there in the grass. The dumper truck didn't notice. Beep-beep! It tipped its hay — whoosh — into a long yellow stripe, right across the bumpy track. "Oh no," said Bram. The tractor woke up with a jump. It drove on and stopped at the next bale. Putt... putt... puttttt... asleep again. The dumper truck tipped its hay — flump — into a soft heap. Right over Bram's boots. Bram looked down. Her boots had a hay hat. "Beep-beep," said the dumper truck, very pleased with itself. The tractor snored. The hay was still not in the barn.
Bram Notices What Everyone Missed
The tractor woke up, blinked its headlights, and drove right past the barn. Putt... putt... puttttt. Straight past the big open doors, yawning the whole way. The dumper truck drove right past too. Beep-beep! It tipped its hay — whoosh — into a tidy pile beside the fence, then sat looking proud of itself. "Wait," said Bram. "The barn is back there." Nobody heard her. The tractor stopped at the next bale and fell asleep in the grass, snoring a small snore. The dumper truck waited, very politely, for the tractor to go. Wherever the tractor went, the dumper truck went. Even when the tractor went the wrong way. Bram looked at the barn. She looked at the tractor. She looked at the dumper truck, copying the tractor, exactly. "Oh," said Bram. She climbed down from the gate, walked to the barn door, planted her boots, and waved both arms — big, slow waves, like a windmill. Beep-beep! The dumper truck saw her. It turned toward the waving, and it tipped. The hay landed right in the barn. Right where the hay should go.
In Goes the Hay, Down Comes the Rain
Bram waved. The dumper truck tipped. Whoosh — hay in the barn. Bram waved again. The dumper truck rolled to the next bale, and — whoosh — hay in the barn. Again and again. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Every load landed right where hay should go. The tired tractor woke up in the grass, yawned a big engine yawn, and went back to sleep. It had a short, honest nap, right there in the warm green. One more bale. The very last one. The dumper truck tipped it — whoosh — and the barn was full. Bram pushed the big doors shut. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Rain fell on the barn roof, on the ferns, on Bram's yellow boots all the way up the path. She stepped inside her cave-home, put her boots by the bed, and tucked her triceratops under one arm. Tap-tap went the window. Down the valley, the tractor snored in the barn, and the dumper truck's little light went quiet. Bram closed her eyes.
The end.