Hay day...

It does not matter what your plans may be, if the hay farmer up the street shows up at 8:00AM and tells you he will be cutting hay that day, and offers you a great deal to pick the bales up in the field, you simply change your plans and go get hay. Chris made the first few trips solo, as I was still working, but I joined him as quickly as I could. We took Proud Mary, (our "new" truck,) for her first utility farm trip.



To our delight, we were able to fit 20 bales of hay in the bed for each trip! Our "little" truck did big work. The weather was beyond perfect, sunny but not hot, with a sweet breeze. We got 100 bales of hay home and tucked safely under cover in no time. Here is what is funny about living in Maine. Just as summer really settles in, it is time to prepare for the cold months. It is time to put hay up, to get your firewood laid in, to make sure any cracks in your foundation are filled to keep the cold air out. Part of the enjoyment we find in summer here is found in the preparation for the cold days to come.

The freshly mowed field smelled like what summer would smell like if you were able to bottle it. Sweet,warm and clean. And happy. It smelled of happy.
Around the edges of the hay field wild low bush blueberries grew. From a distance they look like squatty scrub.



Up close the small, woody bushes are laden with ripening fruit. Each berry is creamy white, tinged with a kiss of pink.



When the crop ripens the whole barren, (that is what a blueberry field is called) will have a lovely haze of blue about it.

With the work day done and the hay stowed, I did evening chores at a snails pace. I chose to take my time and enjoy the process. I sat and watched the pigs savor they supper, I walked the pasture, throwing a ball for Ziva to chase, I was still for a long time watching the poultry.

Hay day interrupted our plans, but it was a good day all told.