A
personal story
Providing
food for my livestock is rewarding.
The hay falls down.
Afternoon I pitch the hay
I hold the big black tongue of the wagon and pull her into the rows. As I pitched the wagon is filled with heaping mounds of sweet smelling hay. Husband loved my nice straight rows and I could tell he wanted to load the hay too. I decided to share the hay. I got a big grin from him and he went right to work. A labor of love.
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,---
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay! ~ Emily Dickinson 1890 " The Grass"
My favorite part of home grown hay
And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.
by
Deborah `Moon` Moen
 |
| Deborah Moon Moen August 8, 2012 |
While
I cut the hay, I become like a true pioneer woman.
Hacking
and cutting, soaking up the sun, wiping my brow, and finding
coolness in the shade and a frosty glass of iced tea, is a labor of love for me.
- We plant it
- Water it
- Let it grow till about 1 ½ feet tall
- Cut it
- Let it dry in the sun
- Rake it in long rows
- Pitch it in the wagon
- Cover it
Startin'
it up is a hoot.
I
use a heavy duty weed whacker.
- I pump it
- prime it
- pull on the cord
- the motor whirls and grinds
- I heft it off the ground
- swing it gracefully from side to side, low to the ground.
“Better
move!” I say to the mice and moles, “Here I come!”
The hay falls down.
In
time I am through. I ask the sun to bake the
hay. By noon I am back with a long metal rake with a wide toothy
comb. I pull the hay into long rows to help it weave together as it dries.
 |
| Raking rows LUF 2012 |
I hold the big black tongue of the wagon and pull her into the rows. As I pitched the wagon is filled with heaping mounds of sweet smelling hay. Husband loved my nice straight rows and I could tell he wanted to load the hay too. I decided to share the hay. I got a big grin from him and he went right to work. A labor of love.
 |
| Paul pitches hay as the storm clouds approach Little Utah Farm. |
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,---
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay! ~ Emily Dickinson 1890 " The Grass"
My favorite part of home grown hay
Here
is a very short video (30 seconds) I made of our llamas eating the home grown hay.
Thank you for coming by to visit Little Utah Farm. The rains came shortly after the last stalks of hay were tarped and tucked away that day. But that is a story for next time...
Until then believe in your dreams,
Deborah `Moon`
 |
| http://www.hayinart.com/001405.html#greenwell |
The grass so little has to do,---
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,
And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;
And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,---
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.
And make itself so fine,---
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.
And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,---
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!
And dream the days away,---
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!
