Hey, it's Hay Making Weather!

"Jolly boating weather,

And a hay harvest breeze,

Blade on the feather,

Shade off the trees."

-William Johnson Cory (English Poet 1823-1892)

This morning I awoke, early by my standards, to the sound of a John Deere tractor out by the barn silo. The low rumble is pleasant to my senses and not at all annoying. I can picture Leo out there, sitting behind the wheel, wearing well-worn jeans and a flannel shirt to keep off the morning chill. He will be watching the final three loads of grass silage being blown up to the top of the silo.

The final three loads. Sounds good doesn't it?

The last two days were spent mowing the tall grass in the fields, made up of various grasses like alfalfa, clover and orchard grass. (Our grass just happens to have an abundance of dandelions too.) The smell of the cut grass, starting to dry in the sun, is one of the best scents there is, at least to this country girl.

Dusty and sweet, earthy and raw.
Drying hay is the smell of June, the scent of summer. It is. . .
        . . . the feeling of finding new kittens hidden by their mothers in the barn,
        . . . the memory of unloading hay and getting all scratchy,
        . . . the sound of the hay elevator clanking as it carries each bale to it's destination,
        . . . the joy of making hay houses,
        . . . the thrill of climbing up the tall stacks of hay, all the way to the barn rafters
        . . . the taste of cold lemonade.

I have a memory of being a little girl, maybe about 5 or 6 years old, and going to the top of a long sloping field where my dad, my uncle, and my grandpa were making hay. The picnic baskets were brought, the blankets were laid out on the prickly hay stubble, and we gathered together to celebrate family and the hay harvest.

I remember running and jumping over the windrows, the long lines of hay made to dry in the wind and the warm sunshine, having races with my sisters and cousins. That's me with the long ponytails with my Aunt Laverna and my little sister Roxie. I thought Laverna looked like Elizabeth on The Waltons. 

As you can see, I was the quiet one. . .

It looks like we are getting ready for a game of . . . 

. . . Red Rover, Red Rover, I dare you to come over. . . 

Doesn't my mother look sweet in her apron and pink dress?

I remember playing "balance beam" on the wagon tongues. 

Really, does it get any better than this?

"The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth itself, and herbs of the mountains are gathered.” Proverbs 27:25

Love,

Dianne