We woke up to a bright warn sunny day and decided to believe. To trust that the wet days had come to an end for at least a little while and that it was time to start making hay.
L has been cutting the long grass all day with the scythe and I have been cooking and delivering meals and turning the grass with a two-pronged fork in the sunny breeze to help the drying process. A friendly looking animal was looking at my progress from the other side of the ditch. It is hard but really satisfying work, and every year we feel that our skills have improved. Every one around us seemed to be at it too as we could hear the distant sound of tractors.
No baking for market this week, this hand haying—all fingers and hooves crossed—should provide a good few months of food for the goats. Last year’s crop carried us into March.
Last year’s L’s mother remembered that people used to salt the hay as it went into the shed to prevent it going off if the weather was damp, I think we did, but only slightly, and it did keep well despite the drips which have by now been mended. The first year we made hay we did not even have a shed and we made little caps for the hay cocks held down with ropes, not all rotted but it was a challenge, this is the north west of the north west and it does rain and wind as a matter of course.