Few machines have reshaped livestock operations as much as the round baler. Before its arrival, haymaking was slow, labor-intensive, and limited by the storage and handling of small square bales. The round baler mechanized the process, producing large rolls that could be handled with tractors instead of back-breaking labor. Today, those big bales are a familiar sight across Oklahoma, Texas, and much of the world, stacked along fence lines or dotting pastures.

The modern round baler traces back to the mid-20th century. While early versions of hay-rolling machines appeared in Europe in the 1940s and 1950s, it was a man from Iowa who brought the design into practical use in America. In 1971, Vermeer Corporation, led by Gary Vermeer, introduced the first large round baler that could be mass-produced and widely adopted. His design gathered hay into a chamber, rolled it into a tight cylindrical package, and then wrapped it with twine before ejecting it onto the ground.

This solved a long-standing bottleneck. Small square bales required enormous labor — lifting, stacking, hauling, and feeding by hand. One person with a tractor and round baler could do in hours what once took a crew all day. The new bales were weather-resistant, stored easily outdoors, and reduced spoilage. They also fit well with the larger scale of modern cattle operations.

By the 1980s, other manufacturers such as John Deere, New Holland, and Case IH offered their own models. Improvements included variable chamber sizes, better pickup systems, and stronger tying methods. Round balers quickly became the standard for beef and dairy producers in Oklahoma, Texas, and beyond.

Though models vary, the principle remains the same. The baler picks up cut hay from the windrow and feeds it into a chamber with belts, rollers, or chains. As the hay circulates, it rolls into a tight cylinder. Once the bale reaches the set size — often 4×5 or 5×6 feet, weighing between 800 and 1,200 pounds — the machine stops feeding, and the bale is wrapped for storage.

The result is a dense, weather-resistant package that can be moved with a tractor spear or loader. Unlike small square bales that require dry storage, round bales can be stacked outdoors, especially when wrapped correctly.

The biggest evolution in round baling since its invention has been the way bales are bound. Early machines used only twine, usually sisal or synthetic. Twine is inexpensive and reliable, but it has drawbacks. Wrapping a bale with twine can take up to two minutes, slowing production. Twine also leaves more exposed surface area, allowing moisture to penetrate and spoil hay.

Net wrap was introduced in the 1990s as a solution. Made of high-strength polyethylene, it wraps the bale quickly — usually in 10 to 20 seconds — and covers more surface area. This tighter, more uniform wrap sheds water better and reduces spoilage, especially for bales stored outside. Net-wrapped bales also hold their shape better, making them easier to stack and transport.

Producers must weigh cost against efficiency. Net wrap is more expensive than twine, both in material and in required equipment, but many ranchers find the savings in time and hay quality worth the investment. Twine remains common for operations feeding hay quickly or storing it under cover, while net wrap dominates in large-scale or commercial setups.

In recent years, bale film wrap has also entered the market. Similar to plastic used in silage, film wrap can seal bales almost completely, reducing spoilage even further. While more expensive, it is gaining ground in wet climates and dairies where feed quality is critical.

The round baler is more than a machine — it changed the rhythm of haymaking. Producers can now harvest, bale, and store hundreds of tons of hay with a fraction of the labor once required. In regions like Oklahoma and North Texas, where cattle herds are large and hay is often stored outdoors, round balers became indispensable.

The machine also influenced land use. With the ability to bale quickly and efficiently, ranchers could harvest larger fields and manage forage with precision. It also reduced dependence on hired labor during peak hay season, a major benefit as rural populations declined.

While square balers still have their place — especially for horse hay and small-scale operations — round bales remain the workhorse of modern cattle ranching.

From its introduction in the 1970s to its widespread adoption today, the round baler has proven to be one of the most influential farm inventions of the last century. It solved the labor bottleneck of haymaking, improved storage and feed efficiency, and fit seamlessly into the mechanization of modern agriculture.

Whether wrapped in twine, net, or film, those big round bales are more than just scenery on a country road. They are symbols of an innovation that continues to save time, labor, and feed across ranch country. Like the steel plow, barbed wire, and windmill, the round baler is an invention that permanently changed the way we work the land.

References

Vermeer Corporation. History of the Round Baler. https://www.vermeer.com

John Deere Equipment. Hay and Forage History. https://www.deere.com

Oklahoma State University Extension. Hay Storage and Preservation.

Texas A&M AgriLife Extension. Net Wrap vs. Twine for Round Bales.

Farm Progress. “Round Balers: The Machine That Changed Haymaking.”

By Tony Dean

Although of little livestock grazing value, this spiny bush has a place in North Texas grazing lands. Probably the most important use of Lotebush is that it is an almost perfect “quail house”.  The thorny overhead provides protection from aerial predators like hawks, but the open view at ground level allows quail to see if other predators are approaching.

 Lotebush is a native perennial shrub that can grow up to seven feet in height and width. The smooth bark can have dark and light gray patches. The zigzag twigs support greenish stout spines up to three inches long with a dark sharp pointed tip. The small leaves are bluish to grayish green.

Lotebush is in the Buckhorn family and has many other common names, including Condalia, Blue-thorn, Chaparral Bush, Texas Buckthorn, Chaparral Prieto, and Abrojo. The name Condalia is derived from Antonio Condal, a Spanish physician.  The roots have been used as a soap substitute, and as a treatment for wounds and sores of domestic animals.

Livestock occasionally browse on new tender growth, especially after a fire, and this sometimes results in mouth soreness in the grazing animal due to the sharp thorns on Lotebush.  Lotebush provides fair browsing value for deer.  Crude protein level has been tested at 18 to 24 percent in spring, 15 to 20 percent through summer and fall, and 12 to 15 percent in winter.

The small black fruit, about 3/8 inch in diameter, usually ripens in July.  It is eaten by quail, turkey, coyotes, small mammals, and many song birds.

Some birds, like the Cactus Wren, will nest in this plant. The Cactus Wren is the largest wren in North America.  It lives year round in drier areas of southwestern states and Northern Mexico.  It is a true bird of the desert and can survive without standing water.  It is very aggressive in protecting its nest.

Lotebush is adapted to clay soils and limestone soils and grows in most areas of the state except extreme East Texas. It also grows in Arizona, New Mexico, and Northern Mexico.

When it is not in dense stands, Lotebush should be protected when planning brush control as it can be a valuable part of our wildlife management efforts. It often appears on areas in the pasture where grass is rather thin, so we are not giving up much grazing production by leaving a few plants. If desired, it can be controlled mechanically or chemically with certain ground-applied chemicals.

Birds and small mammals that feed on our grazing lands often deposit seeds in their droppings from other plants under the canopy of Lotebush. If these seeds germinate, Lotebush can serve as a “protective skeleton” to prevent grazing or browsing on these new plants.  Some of these protected plants might be otherwise totally grazed out of a pasture due to preference by livestock or wildlife, so at least we can preserve a seed source within the spiny protection of our Lotebush plants.

Lotebush will root sprout when top killed by fire, but it will take a decade for a plant to again become adequate cover for quail. A plant or group of plants about the size of a pickup works best for quail cover.

This morning, I walked out into my arena and noticed something that gave me pause. The roping steers had been in there the day before, and even though the ground was wide and level, the sand carried their story. Hoofprints crossed every direction, but in several spots, the same trail was pressed deeper than the rest. Twelve steers had been turned out, yet more than a few chose the exact same path, wearing it down until it stood out from all the other tracks.

Cattle are creatures of habit. Anyone who has spent time around them knows this. They like routine: the same feed, the same water trough, the same shade tree in the pasture. When they are turned loose, they rarely wander without purpose. More often than not, they move together, following the same course as the steer in front of them. There are reasons for this: efficiency, safety, instinct. Walking a beaten path conserves energy, and following the herd is their natural defense. Even in an arena with no real destination, those instincts come through. By the end of a short turnout, you will see the evidence, lines where they have chosen the easiest way to travel and stuck with it.

Out on the range, those lines last longer. Before fences and highways, cattle drives cut deep paths across the land. The Chisholm Trail, which carried herds north from Texas through Oklahoma into Kansas, was walked by millions of cattle in the late 1800s. More than a century later, faint traces of those trails remain, worn so deep by hooves and wagon wheels that the land still carries the mark. On ranches today, you can see the same effect in pastures where cattle walk the same lines between water and grazing. From the ground those trails might look like nothing more than dusty ruts, but from the air, they sometimes stand out as sharp lines winding through otherwise open fields. Cattle do not simply pass over the land; they shape it. Every step adds up.

That simple truth extends beyond livestock. We all make tracks. Our habits and routines are our trails, worn in by repetition, sometimes efficient, sometimes limiting. Like the cow paths, they can serve a purpose, keeping us steady and helping us move forward. But when repeated without thought, they risk becoming ruts, keeping us from stepping into new ground. History offers perspective here too. The old cattle trails built towns and economies, but once railroads and fences changed the landscape, those paths were no longer useful. Sticking to them would have meant going in circles. Progress required something new.

The Tracks We Leave

Standing in the arena, I thought about the kind of tracks I leave behind. Most of mine are not visible in the dirt. They are pressed into my daily life, how I work, the way I handle challenges, the example I set. Some are helpful and worth keeping. Others may have outlived their purpose. The difference comes in knowing when to stay in the track and when to step out of it.

Tomorrow I will drag the arena and smooth it all clean again. The next time the steers are turned in, they will make the same trails. That is their nature. But unlike them, I have a choice. I can decide which paths are worth walking, which ones to change, and what kind of tracks I want to leave for others who might follow.

Tracks tell a story. Sometimes they are only temporary, fading with the next rain. Other times they last for generations, reminders of where herds and people once walked. This morning, the cattle showed me again that even the smallest things on the ranch carry meaning. Their tracks in the arena were not just marks in the sand. They were a lesson: every step matters, and the paths we choose shape more than just the ground beneath our feet.