Drumard Farm

The Grind for Mechanical Power The morning sun hits Drumard Farm with a reminder of the steep climb ahead. In this survival run, every gear turn is earned through sweat and calculated risk. I started this journey with nothing but hand tools, and while I have managed to upgrade to a basic tractor, the limitation of a hand-propelled baler has become a massive bottleneck. I recently finished windrowing a field, leaving swaths of straw that need processing before they rot. To move from manual labor to a tractor-driven IH McCormick 423, I need a real baler. The problem is a familiar one: I have about £3,600 in the bank, and the vintage machinery I’m eyeing costs a steep £20,000. High Stakes Forestry When the bank account is dry and the fields aren't yet sold, the local timber becomes the ultimate liquid asset. I decided to fell a massive tree to bridge the £16,000 gap. The plan was simple: drop the tree directly onto a trailer to save time. Of course, physics rarely cooperates with convenience. The tree snagged on a neighboring branch, hanging precariously in the air and threatening to crush the cab of my wheel loader. I had to use the heavy Dolpima PSx90 chainsaw to carefully dissect the trunk while it was still under tension. It was messy, dangerous, and exactly the kind of hardware-on-hardware struggle that makes this challenge rewarding. After a grueling session of loading and hauling, the timber yard payout hit my account, finally pushing me past that critical £20,000 threshold. Choosing the Right Vintage Steel Walking through the equipment shop feels different when every pound represents hours of manual clearing. I had a choice between two vintage balers. One was a 1959 model, the other a 1960. While they look identical to the untrained eye, I opted for the 1960 version. In the world of hardware maintenance, even a year of design refinement can mean better reliability, or at least the psychological comfort of slightly "newer" old tech. Even for 1995 standards—the setting for this series—a 1960s baler is an antique, but it represents a quantum leap over the hand-pushed alternative. I also snagged a second-hand trailer at 50% off and a heavy front weight for the tractor. These aren't just purchases; they are tactical upgrades to my farm's infrastructure. The Mystery of the Missing Netting The climax of the day should have been the first bale rolling out of the new machine. I even spent my last few pounds on a pallet of baler twine and netting, assuming modern (or semi-modern) standards. However, once I hooked the 1960 baler to the PTO and began hungry work on the straw swaths, I realized something fascinating: the machine wouldn't take the netting. It turns out this specific model predates the widespread use of plastic net wrap. It’s a pure mechanical beast that holds the bales together through sheer tension or twine, bypassing the need for expensive consumables I’d just bought. It was a humbling reminder that when you work with legacy hardware, you have to respect the era's technical limitations. Scaling the Operation By the time the field was cleared, I had processed 30,000 liters of straw. Using the wheel loader to stack these onto my newly acquired dual-trailer setup felt like a victory lap. My yard is starting to feel "cozy"—a term I use to describe a workspace where every tool is within reach and every field is visible from the porch. The next step is clear: I need more land. While a new combine or a bigger tractor is tempting, land is the only hardware that pays for itself. I'm eyeing the adjacent wheat fields to expand the harvest cycle, knowing that each bale I stack is another brick in the foundation of this extreme survival experiment.