Our haying for 2016 is done.
Over the past two days we’ve moved 200 bales of hay, a small haul for a small farm, just over five and a half ton. We’ve spent over ten hours in the amazing bake of Alaska sun. We’ve laughed, we’ve snarled, Mama secretly cried a few times over memories and tiredness and quiet grief over a pony we don’t need to buy chow for any more, Daddy not-so-secretly got a sunburn on his bald spot, and we’ve bonded as a family.
Tucked in alongside hay trips, we’ve learned how to put stitches in a lamb’s leg, we’ve met new people who love 4-H and want to support us in small and big ways, we’ve reunited with some favorite music that speaks of the Great North like no other, and we’ve gone out to eat for the first time in forever.
I thought after Beau died that maybe we weren’t meant for the farm life.
I thought maybe we weren’t good enough for this life with animals and farm folk and feed stores and hay fields.
But after this weekend I realize that the farm life isn’t a matter of who’s good enough or not good enough.
It’s a life that changes those who choose it.
And that with each passing year, with each turn of the season…
you buck bales a little quicker and you learn to steer a little straighter and you get more efficient at driving the field and your muscles get a little bigger.
And just like the hay…
you reach toward the sun and you grow.