At the end of every summer, I get the barn ready for the first delivery of hay. I won’t be there to see it for the first time since I moved up here.

It’s a sacred ritual for me, one I love, but it will be different this year.

David is coming with 30 bales this morning, but because of Covid, I’m staying in the house (so is Maria), and he will unload the hay by himself.

He can handle it easily, but it’s a strange feeling, one of the rituals I love to be a part of. We yak about the weather, the hay, the animals. We have our wood and are getting 60  bales of the first cut and 10 of the second cut.

Hay is just about $10 a bale this year, a considerable jump. I love the feeling I get when the wood is in the shed, and the hay is in the barn. It means we are all ready for winter.

This year, we also have a primed generator ready to go to work if needed.

As the unofficial quartermaster, I’m proud of our winter readiness. The basement heater has been checked and cleaned; the wood stoves will be cleaned this coming month.

The old farmers insisted I chew the hay to gauge its moisture and freshness. I always went along with this; it was essential to them.

The young farmers don’t do that any longer.

I won’t be able to take any photos while David is here, but I’ll take one when he’s gone, and the hay is in the barn. As I write this, David has arrived and is putting hay in the barn.

It’s so odd not to be out there. He’ll bring the second 30 bales in a couple of weeks, and I expect to be there for that.