Kate pulls the hay wagon.

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

The steady rhythm of the seasons has always been a joy to my soul -- the welcome return of light, heat, and growth of summer.  The scent of new-mown hay and the feeling of security against the winter months that a fat load of hay creates.  On Hawk's Hill, we make hay the simple way -- Without hay ballers or balers, my husband mows it, rakes it with an implement he crafted himself, and then we load it onto a hay wagon with the new tractor bucket and pitchforks.  Then into the barn we fork it into one huge pile.

We made hay the week before Independence Day on a hot, sunny afternoon.  Come Thanksgiving, when our oldest daughter returns home from college, she and I will find ourselves moseying out to the barn to check on the laying flock, then plopping ourselves down in the warm hay pile to take in the quiet sounds of the barn-- the hens scratching and feeding, the wind in the eaves.  Time will open up to hear her thoughts, her latest stories, and the eternal sense of connection with each other and nature will spring up gently within us.  That is what I think of when I make hay in the sunshine.

Of course, the practical reason we make hay is to provide clean bedding for the hens in the winter.  They will pick through it for seeds and other tasty bits, too.  But the hay makes a clean floor covering, and a cozy stuffing for nest boxes to cushion the birds and their eggs.

The growing hay pile nearly reaches the ceilin.

David scooping hay.

 Have you ever wrapped yourself in a woolen cloak and tucked down into a pile of clean hay?  The scent of the summer meadow rises up around you, your body warmth is reflected back to you and you feel the rare sense of delicious warmth in the midst of the bitter weather.  Yin and yang.  The heat and stickiness of making hay -- sweat running down your brow and stinging your eyes, prickly grass bits lodging down your shirt, the sun pressing into your body -- mingle with the remembrance of Novembers past and the delight of warmth in the cold, and nearness to nature and kin.  Its these simple earthy pleasures that make living on Hawk's Hill a gift from God.

Here's hoping you are enjoying the heat of this season and storing up memories for winter's fireside.
Betsy