There is nothing like the smell of freshly mowed grass and baled hay at the end of a fall day.
John Deere could sell thousands of tractors just by a post card with a small scratch ‘n sniff area labeled “Hay”. All men are inherently attracted to the smell of the fresh clean scent and it reminds me of the hot summer coming to a close and time for fall and the crispness of winter mornings.
If the rains come and the grass grows, we bale hay two or three times a year. First we cut, then we rake…
Then we bale into round bales. Truly, it’s our neighbor Mr. Surovik, who brings his tractor, his son, his equipment; and, his love for farming to cut, rake and bale. He is such a decent and kind man. He calls me sweetheart and we talk about gardening, canning, chickens, dogs, grass, taxes and politics. He’s old school and that’s a wonderful thing. He’s running the baler, dressed in green as “a tribute to the Irish,” he says…
These gentlemen witnessed it all atop their perch on the door, never moving an inch, enjoying the view, and hiding from the hawks who circled the tractors as the varmints scattered in the field. Just a glimpse, from a bird’s eye view, of what goes on around here in the hay department…
