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”
Kitty! I love your pictures.
The highs the lows of farming. Never so well documented as here in this singular post.
Beautifully told – I felt like I was there 🙂 Shame about Daisy if it turns out to be true…
Ranchers around here are pretty tight lipped, too. Long periods of silence while they think and wait. Makes me nervous as I always think I should fill the void, somehow.
Will hold good thoughts for Daisy and the Farmy. Good job for the ‘dead hen’ and her babies. Sometimes you just have to leave things alone.
As always, your writing is so real and honest, it’s like a moment of being transported away to another life. I will practice being still today. xxx
Growing up in the country of Ohio, I know that brevity of speech that speaks volumes, and the patience required when growing things. I know the quiet of a hay field and the clacking of old people teeth. Lovely post, Celi, go let some more of that come to you…
Our farmers get no water, you get too much…with all the fancy technology of our time you’d think people would find a good way to close the gap. Those chicks are a magical find!
The sky looked like rain, but I’m glad it moved on, allowing the had to dry a bit more. Chicks! What a lovely surprise! I love the yarning part. 🙂
What a great post! My husband and dad are like that …. Dad at 85, Tim at 62, oh the farm talk. And I haven’t got a book yet, so jealous.
we will get you your book, do email me!
c
Practically for a farmer the succincter the commentary the less flies possibly ingested 😉 Wonderful photos and words, I inhaled the essence of late summer-early autumn and smiled 🙂
Australian farmers especially! morning darling..c
Your descriptions of the haymakers are so poetically rural. Excellent descriptive writing.
Nice story. I love those slow country conversations. How exciting for the children to find the little chicks.
Celi… I find your writing and photos my best morning therapy. I feel a bit like Poppy these days… smashing through doors, stomping through the house or around the yard, in a state of menopause madness (rather than HEAT! LOL). Your tender yet whimsical observations of people and farm life help me to sit back and enjoy this moment quietly sitting with my coffee.
Hay season is so stressful. Not for the work, that is hot and dirty and tough, that’s a given. But for the uncertainty and the knowledge that the hay will be so desperately needed in a few short months. The possibility of not having enough hay at the end of hay season has kept us up many a night. It’s one of the many uncontrollable factors in the farming equation.
I think you are right. The answer to everything is in the hay.