first_cut_hay cr0wl he was out in his manicured front yard cultivating the rich, black soil of his small, meticulously planted garden plot when i drove up in the humid morning heat to get hay. he was dressed, like most farmers in this area, in a short sleeve button up shirt with a white undershirt and polyester pants that made me sweat just looking at him. he reminded me of dick cheney, in looks, fortunately not character, but he did seem angry at everything farmers grow frustrated with. today it was the threat of rain and hurrying to bring in the hay. after he put his hoe down and said,"howdy," he guided me back into the sweet-smelling barn. first cut hay is a much coveted and heralded event, especially to the horses and goats who have endured the long winter chewing tasteless old feedings. the freshly stacked bales still contained the green of young spring and hinted at the moist process of aging which produced the fragrance that instantly makes one think of the perennial cycle of vibrant life. we talked little as we dragged two bales at a time over trailer tongues and past sleepy barn cats. i could hear him grunting and breathing hard and kept thinking just take one of your shirts off or put shorts on, but the strenuous work didn't seem to phase him as the sweat made his white hair slick around his neck. he even possessed sufficient breath and social grace to tell me he was planning a trip to alaska in july to sight see and fish for salmon. gentle his condition and powerful his strength. when i brought the load back to robin_hill, kathy pushed open the screen door and standing on the porch already began exclaiming about the wafting perfume as i trudged up the pebbly driveway. when i got out of the truck, we both stood back and admired it. even the horses whinnied their desire to sink their teeth into it. there is simply nothing like first cut hay. what words can you give to adequately capture the generosity of the earth, this perfect combination of sight, smell, work, sweat, purpose, and beauty? 090525 what's it to you? who go blather from