One sunny June day as the farmers arose, Ma said to Pa “It’s time to go mow!”
“The weather man says there’ll be three days of sun, so get on that tractor and get some hay done.”
Pa cut down the grass and left it to dry then went in for supper, ate strawberry pie.
The next day was Ma’s turn. She hooked up the tedder to fluff up the grass which makes it dry better.
As the tedder tines turned they kicked up some green. The best looking hay that ma had ever seen.
There was timothy, broome grass, alfalfa and clover. “The animals will love it!” She thought over and over.
The next day ‘round noon Ma raked it in rows to dry one more time as the summer breeze blows.
Soon Grandpa came out, his test would not fail. With a squeeze of his fist, proclaimed “Time to bale!”
Pa hooked up the baler, made sure it had twine, while Ma and the boys all followed behind.
Each bale on the wagon, then up the elevator where that delicious hay would wait, stacked, for later.
The animals would need it this winter that’s true when frost and deep snow-covered pastures they knew.
But for Ma and Pa, the boys and Gramp, summer had just started. There was lemonade, camp!
They’d make lots more hay: second cutting, more fields before the leaves started to fall on their yields.
The barn in the autumn was full of hay by the ton. The farmers felt proud of the work that they’d done.
The horses would whinny, eating hay in their stalls. The goats and the cows would echo their calls.
Thanking the farmers for keeping them fed all through the winter till new grass pokes its head.
