Tuesday, June 16, 2009
How the seasons fly by when you live according to their rhythms. I can't believe it's hay season already.
We've had an unusually long stretch of warm, dry weather, and everybody is haying. I love seeing the bales out on the fields, especially the big round ones (but not the ones covered in white plastic that look like giant marshmallows). I love it when the big tractors rumble down the state highway at twelve miles an hour. I love watching the hawks and the ravens follow the hayers, scrambling for all the little animals as they run away looking for a new place to live. Most of all, I love the wonderful wonderful smell of fresh hay.
But there's no denying haying is hard work. I was on the computer perusing craigslist at about quarter to eight this evening, when I saw an ad for local first cutting horse hay at $3 a bale off the field. That's a real good price for horse hay when you know for certain it hasn't got wet. I called the number, thinking to make an appointment for the next couple of days, but the guy said "we're out here now." They were only a half mile away, and the truck was empty, so off we went.
Thunderstorms are forecast for tonight, so these guys were working like mules to get the hay off the field and under cover. I'm sure they worked till the last light went out of the sky about fifteen minutes ago. I know we did.
Homero managed to stuff twenty bales into the truck and we made two trips. We got it all up into the hayloft before it started to sprinkle, barely. First I had to scrape the hayloft clean of all the chicken shit and various debris that has accumulated up there. That wasn't fun. I tried and tried, but I never did find a way to keep the chickens out of the hayloft last year. Maybe I will this year.
The children sure enjoyed the whole endeavor, as did the baby goats. Nothing is as much fun to climb on as a whole big stack of hay. We're all worn out. Most likely the baby goats, too.
my sister suggested a caption for this picture: "you might be a redneck if..."