a year ago,
after first cutting,
i did a tribute to my
grandpa herm
on high button shoe.
i wrote of the memories
i have of doing hay with my grandpa.
i spoke of how he never called me to say
"are you ready"
i would just hear the tractor start, i would just know
and i would wait until the tractor, hay baler and wagon
pulled into the yard.
it was always the hottest day of the week
when the hay was ready.
i was pretty stubborn, at times,
if i was going to be out in the sun...i was going to get a tan...
i usually baled hay in a halter top, which left me with
lots of scraps and scratches... lots of chafe sticking
to my sweaty body...
but tan.
i love those memories that came back,
every year,
at this time.
we no longer do the hay.
there is no longer a baler
that shoots the bale to you.
this baler is round and it just leaves the bale in the field.
ah, progress...
but never the less...
the smell,
the sounds,
of the field being cut,
the windrows,
the baling process.
it's all right here...
in my mind.
in my heart.
forever.
welcome to coffee hour.
welcome to this Sunday morning.
just BE.
robin.
Anyone that has experienced putting hay up, just went through the experience with your memories. It is hard work and I didn't come along until we were doing round 2 ton bales. It is still the way of life and IT IS ALWAYS THE HOTTEST WEEK OF THE YEAR. Thanks for sharing your memories.
ReplyDeleteWe saw a bunch of hay bales this weekend. As a kid and even now, those always remind me of elephants sleeping in the field.
ReplyDeleteAfter weeks it seemed of first cutting, with small rectangular bales of hay, feeded up into the highest reaches of the haybarn, with bales now easily 30-40 bales high (several bales higher than the rafters) and not a breath of air to be had, I don't miss that part. But I admit when the farmer now comes with his big round baler, and cutting, drying and baling is down much faster and with less physical effort, I get a twinge of fond memory. We merely sell the fields. The smell of hay cutting and drying alone is enough to take you back years and years of farming. It is a good life. One that is difficult to forget. It stays in your blood long after you stop milking cows and putting up crops.
ReplyDeletein fond regard, Tilda
Gorgeous photos. Love you fluffy kitty cat. Thanks for the poem too.
ReplyDeletexo Teneale
I just have to say... you know what I LOVE about your blog... besides that it is ALWAYS an inspiration to me, just to see those words just BE.... besides that, it is a visual diary of your life! The pictures are always so descriptive - even before I read the words, I can almost tell what they are going to say! Thanks for always BEing positive!
ReplyDeleteAHHHH...CHOO...as I laid the fresh baled hay on the floor of the shop, for ambiance, I'm reminded of first cuts too, never a farmers daughter...sigh...but the smell always made me smile...soooo heartland...
ReplyDeleteI have a soap that I make called Fresh Mown Hay, you can almost smell the alfalfa. It has cornmeal and mint leaves to scrub away the grime, a perfect kitchen or shed soap...ahhh, the good life!
Thanks for the coffee...s