When we last convened, I touched on the topic of what it means to vacation away from a dairy farm. Getting away is never easy, but with a little foresight, determination, and downright Swiss stubbornness, it can be possible. Having planned for practically every contingency and provided backups where needed, I felt confident when I departed the farm for my two-week stint down the East Coast with the Aussies.

Then came the phone call.

I passed the phone to my wife. I had no desire to subject myself to what I knew was going to be bad news. I continued to drive. The seats behind me grew quiet as we all listened to her half of the conversation. Sure enough, one of the relief workers had backed out. His position was the only one without redundancy - no one else could do his job.

It was nearly dark when we arrived at our hotel. I politely said goodnight to Andrew and his family - they would have to grab dinner without Ashley or me. I anticipated a long night, trying to work this out.

The first thing I did was call my dad. Because of the late spring in 2013, everything was behind. We had to make the second cutting of alfalfa in July, which never happens - I specifically planned my vacation with the Aussies to avoid the very scenario I now found myself in. Dad only needed one person to help, which I had arranged in my stead. Now, that person had backed out. I called my dad to implore, just wait until I get home next week - we'll make hay then.

I was too late. By the time I called, more than 60 acres had been cut, and was laying on the ground, drying in the July heat. There was tired gruffness in his voice when he ended the conversation with, "I've made hay alone before, and I'll do it again."

I hardly felt better.

Immediately, I called the three people I thought could help and got three answering machines. I left a message with each, but with a growing sense of despair. At this point I had to assume that no one would be able to help out.

I leaned back in the hotel desk chair. Now what? I felt absolutely helpless - my neck throbbed with each heartbeat. There was no way I could ever forgive myself if I stayed here - I needed to be home, but how?

We were scheduled to drive to Washington, D.C. the next day, where we would stay for four days. That was it - I could drive us to Washington in the morning, and catch a cheap flight back to the Midwest. My wife could stay in D.C. with the Aussies, and I'd return just in time to depart for our next destination.

I started to think of the cost of a last-minute round-trip airline ticket. I would also need to rent a car, unless I could coordinate a friend to come to the airport to pick me up. The costs added up, atop an already overly expensive trip.

Just then the phone rang, from one of the people I had called. Sweetly she offered, "I can help; I'm free for the next few days. But, I've never driven a tractor before. Is it hard?"

I chuckled, knowing that it would be downright evil for me to require my dad to also provide on-the-job training. She was absolutely capable of doing the work, but now was probably not the right time. I thanked her profusely for being willing to help.

I stewed in anxiety for a few more minutes, which was appropriate - the phone rang again. It was my long-time motorcycle-riding compatriot Stewbert, returning my call. Stewbert grew up on a farm and has provided relief assistance for me in the past. My heart skipped a beat - he was free the next day, but had to attend work-related conferences after that.

My mind raced. What if I couldn't get an immediate flight back to Wisconsin? I was still waiting to hear from one more person, but had to assume the worst. I asked Stewbert to plan on showing up at the farm as early as possible, and I'd make it up to him once I got back. I hung up the phone, thankful to have such good friends.

Ashley and I went out for dinner, or at least tried to. She noticed my restlessness. "I should be home, now." I kept saying. She countered my angst with a soothing, "Just give it some time - sleep on it."

In bed, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I suppressed the urge to whip out my laptop and search for flights, despite the sleep that eluded me.

It was late when the phone rang a third time. I snatched it up and answered midway through the first ring. This time, it was Tyler, who has helped me make hay in the past, and was familiar with our equipment.He had the next couple of days off work and would be happy to help out.

I hung up the phone and sat at the edge of the bed. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of peace, and gratitude. I thought of the farm, my family, and my friends back home - the best anyone could ask for. I knew it was they, all working in harmony, which allowed me the chance to share this special time with Andrew and his family.

Before falling asleep, I leaned over and thanked my wife, who had somehow known it was all going to work out.

- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.