Tales of a British expat, transplanted into the lush Tennessee countryside.
"It was the Third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day;I was out choppin' cotton, and my brother was balin' hay . . ."I always thik of that when the first drift of that unmistakable green/drying grassy aroma comes across the fields. It's as telling a scent as the odor of First Turning, when the plows hit the Winter-rested fields for Spring plowing.How lovely to have windows and doors open to that well-remembered breeze, and now beautiful the great round shining loaves set aside for the stock.I'd love a closeup of the operation which turns out such perfect cylinders of such an unmanageable mass as the cut grasses must be. My experience with hay-baling was actual BALES, like prickly steamer-trunks tied up in wire or twine and stacked in shelter.Thank you for the memberies.
Takes me back to my childhood and haymaking in new Zealand . Those are wonderful rolls of hay!
Great post! Thanks.
Such a pretty picture!
Love the shredded wheat reminder! :-)
For years we bailed our own hay. Busy, hot sticky days. But, my most favorite photo of my husband and myself was taken as we sat at the end of the hay wagon. Brown from the sun, holding hands, a job well done.
I love that wonderful scent of freshly cut hay.It also reminds me of my mother's saying when we would say "Hey". She'd always reply that hay was for horses and not for people.
It would kick up a dust storm when they cut itbut after a rain it did smell sweet. We sure miss the fieldback of our last home.
The hey bails are so neat. Jo, I like that smell also. Blessings, xoxo, Susie
Jo, I mean bales.LOL
We too have lots of fields full of round bales. They let them dry a little bit before we pile them up.
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