HAY

The day was clear and cool and no humidity. Ususally, when it is time to get the hay in the temperature is in the 90's and it is humid as hell. No this time. Climate change, maybe! It is the fourth of July and haying has no use for calenders or holidays. You do what you must when the time is at hand.

The sweet smell of the newly cut and dried grass fills the nostrils and the horses sense an end to last years left overs. Oops, a broken bale. Oh well, the horses are watching and hoping for a taste of things to come. It has been dry and all of the new growth grass is down to the nub. Why not? The flakes are thrown to the curious and mouths hit the grown non-stop in a signal of approval.

The elevator cranks and the bales, like ducks in a row, make their way to the waiting safety of the mow above the horse stalls. At first they are just thrown to the side and they slide across a floor so polished by decades coarse grass it reminds you of the floor of a roller rink or bowling alley.

Finally, the last bale goes up the clanking elevator. The piles above are placed into neat stacks abd the air is filled with the scent of the tons of dried clover, june grass, timothy and an array of other field grasses and flowers.

When it is all said and done, there is a feeling not only of accomplishment, but of safety. The animals will be fed this winter. There is ample hay and some will be left into next summer. All is right in the world, at least for the horses