My boot on the ramp of the tractor, yarning about cows and pigs and hay. This is what I was missing. Yarning. 
The hay man was here, with his dad and his sons. All with an opinion about the state of the hay – each opinion was considered – chewed and nodded over. There was time. Too wet. Rain coming. Too humid. Wet earth. Ran a few bales. Too heavy. Quit.
I gave them bags of pasture raised chickens and bacon from my pigs for their time. Grandpa sliding the bacon aside and under his jacket in the back seat – to take to his own house. He loves him some good bacon he said, grinning. His unhinged teeth clacking gently up and down.
We watched the cows, while the hay dried a little more, giving it time to decide if it was going to dry out the moisture or suck it back in and it was concluded that Daisy may not be pregnant after all. Which is not good news.
Poppy smashed her way through a gate. In a high state of HEAT. Sick of herself and everyone else and off out looking for a belly rub or a boar, not necessarily in that order. She found a belly rub.
I found MOSS in the hay paddock – reached down to hook it out with my finger. ” I guess it could be worse” said the straight faced handsome hay man. “There could be ducks floating in the paddock.” His father choked a little, pulling on the bib overalls he wore that were older than his son, his teeth moving about some more.” Happened to me.” said the son. “Snort.” said the Dad. Obviously a much loved story. Told a dozen times. A pantomime. A life.
You have to get to know these two. Words are not squandered. Sentences are foreshortened. The essence of a conversation is condensed to a couple of words. A grin. A nod. This is my third season with these men and their flock of children. I am getting to understand their language. Their ability to sit and wait for the hay to dry. To just be still. Though the hay didn’t dry. So then they went home. Wth their chickens. Stuff them with lemons and onions and apples and a bit of thyme, I called. I love feeding children and their Mums and Dads.
Before they left, the sons and I loaded the few bales of green baled hay up into the loft, and salted it. Then one of the children, forgetting that he was working like a man, squealed in delight when he flushed out one of the old hens with her previously undiscovered chicks. Eight of them we counted. We watched them for a while – in the gloom up there. We shepherded them into the Peacock Palace so they had a better chance of surviving, it is safer in there. Dad and Grandad leaning on the gates down below, waiting, without a breath of impatience, while we gently herded chicks.
The hay has time to dry now. Hay teaches us patience and the ability to fail. Failing takes practise. And the rain never came, so it might dry after all.
I hope you all have a lovely day
Your friend on the farm,
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
41 responses to “Glorious Failures”
Oh, the Yarning is back! I should learn some lessons from these men who nod and grunt. And use one word at a time. Yup. Sorry to hear about Daisy. Yup. Sad. Sorry.
not confirmed yet, the vet comes next week to check them both.. c
Lovely post Celi .. I can nearly hear that clacking
What a lovely discovery!
Christine
Thought you might like them Christine, though the light was awfully low .. she is better in there with those chicks for a while until they are bigger.. but it does tell me that starting chicks in the autumn is not such a weird idea after all.. c
What an awesome discovery!! I hope they will be feathered out by the time your cold comes in….Mama hen will take good care to keep them warm. I love when there are new hatchlings on the farm. It brings a sense of excitement.
Love your moss photo. It’s like a microscopic forest of trees, a wood in microcosm… Yup. Good shot.
Oh what a lovely surprise with the baby chicks!
Book arrived yesterday – and I am 1/4 of the way through it and loving it! Need to order another one now for my daughter (keeping this one for ME).
Have a great day, and stop for that cup of tea often and just ‘be’!!
Viv sighs with contentment after reading that, even though the hay still isn’t dry.
Love,
ViVx
Yarning does us all good and provides plenty of blog fodder.
Oh no Daisy! Cute chicks, hope the rain holds off 🙂 Laura
I’m no child, or as my dad used to say,”No spring chicken” but I’d be as excited as those young’uns discovering baby chicks under the hay. The farmy is full of unexpected surprises.
Celi, your words always take all the pinch out of my shoulders and furrow out of my brow. Thank you for your way with words. To spin a story so simple, into a calm destination for my wandering brain—–((-sssiiiiiggggghhhh.)) ❤
Yarning = a good thing. Come on hay— dry up!!! I am cheering it on from here!!!!
Is it the “dead” chicken that hatched chicks? 🙂 Looks a little like her…
Oh well done Allison, i think you are right! She never gave up.. c
I will never forget THAT bird! ha ha
HAHAHA! Oh I so hope it is!
I like the sound of your hay men. Fascinating use of language. I’m having a relaxing day, having spent a marvellous evening with friends. A surprise party, can you image, at my age. I loved it. The ol’ head’s a bit spinning though, but never mind… xx
a surprise party! MOST EXCELLENT. You are having multiple birthdays!.. c
The idyllic farm life, you describe it so well.
Oh…sad! Rain on the hay. But you are feeding cows and sheep and pig with the hay. It would never work for horse. But you know all that…I’m just making a comment. Waiting for the hay to dry is a horrible wait…makes one scan the heavens all the time, watching for the sun and trying to hold back clouds. How well do I know.
Linda
http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com