Not. The Hay Guy was not there (sigh), but his son was - the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, let me say. Oh, to be 30 years younger! He is delightful and a dead-aim with hay bales from the mow. Neighbor N is not, let's say, a ball o' fire. So it took twice as long as usual to get the bales on and strapped (and triple-strapped) down. Arriving at the LLF, we find...no one. So, Neighbor N and I unload and stack the bales ourselves - me hefting them to the barn door and instructing how they should be stacked, Neighbor N stacking how he wants and ignoring me.
And did I mention that I stopped on the way home to give blood? Oh, yes. I saw the signs that morning on the way to work - they were in need of my blood type - so I thought, why not? Why not, indeed.
We sat on the deck afterwards, trying to get our breath back. I felt so guilty, I asked him to stop by for dinner Tuesday. This was pretty heavy-duty guilt, as the last thing in the world I want to do after work and evening chores, is make dinner. At least I chose grilling hamburgers and oven baked sweet potato fries (pre-made/frozen).
Everyone was very happy with the hay:
|Lousy picture but lovely hay.|
Stacked the wrong way.
|Linden and Juno willing me to make it |
|Norman is ready for breakfast.|
I am happy it is over with. This will last me most of the summer and, hopefully, my Farmer Neighbor will be available for the next load. Now, off to find the Aleve!