June 16, 2022

Robert Frost would have run out of ink if writing about this June. One after the next of splendid days have been ours in which to luxuriate.

How well do I know? Take it from a Haymaker. No, that’s not the name of a constellation in the nighttime sky, or much as it may sound, the name of a drink at the bar down in Pittstown. No, it’s just as it sounds; one who makes hay.

Slinging bales in June has been my lot since the bales were bigger and heavier than I was. And why in June? Simply put, “then, if ever, come perfect days.” Thank you for that, Mr. Frost. Indeed, perfect sunny days are needed by the Haymaker to get his perfect bales.

Before I get bogged down, the Haymaker is, decidedly , a unisex deal. Nowhere is it written that all hay help need be boys. In fact, I recall those instances when, from my tractor seat, I’d peer across the field and see all feminine bale-slingers. Indeed, the work was getting done on that beautiful day, all by the ladies.

Back to this June, though. Spring is typically attended by very unsettled weather. Many Springs will drive the Haymaker nuts, timing the endeavor around the next raindrops. Would I jinx this heretofore perfect June by noting that it has been most cooperative?

Oh boy, now I’ve said it!


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