Mowing Weather

Following an unpleasantly warm and humid weekend, July 1st dawned with a gift of ideal weather. 

62 F. at 6:30 a.m. with a delightful breeze riffling through the trees that edge the north and south ravines. .

J. and H. were off early on a mission to purchase a zero-turn lawn mower which H. had noted for sale near Hazard, KY.

This left me quite happily on my own for a few hours.

It was comfortable to putter in the little greenhouse, potting on a few cherry tomato plants and half a dozen of 'spicy globe' basil.

That done and an early 'tea' served to the cats, I headed for the South Fork discount markets for a bit of bargain shopping. 

I didn't find much that I needed; a few tubs of a disgustingly sloppy 'stew' approved by our felines, cleaning supplies--and of all things--a hand held hair dryer to replace the one which began threatening noises when used on Sunday.

I was putting away the shopping when J. and H. wheeled in, immensely pleased with their own buying expedition.

The mower was rolled off the trailer, the gas tank filled, and there followed a typical frolic of both men trying out the new purchase. 

Enthusiasm was so great that over the course of the afternoon the dooryard was cropped and then the rougher expanse of the lower back meadow and along both edges of the lane.

As J. and H. were gloating over the attributes of the lawn mower, our Beachy neighbors roared in to mow the second hay cutting on our upper meadow. 

I retreated downstairs to baste around the edges of a large quilt [by machine of course] with assistance from Rosie-cat. I cut and spliced what seemed like yards of binding but decided to leave the finish for another time.

 [Binding a queen/king quilt even with the completely machined method that currently works for an 'everyday' quilt, is a task that requires over an hour.]

Instead I walked out into the cool grass-scented dusk. Dew had already fallen and the toes of my shoes flung up damp clumps of longer cut grass as I neared the end of the lane and started around the slope at the western end of the property. 

From behind the small barn that we call the 'snake shed' the unmistakable voice of a Barred Owl queried, "Whooo cooks for yooo? Whooo cooks for yooo?"

I stood still, delightedly listening to the call and response conversation as another owl chimed in from deeper in the ravine. 

Tuesday continued blessedly cool with intermittent clouds.

Jim, still a farmer at heart, began to fret that rain would move in before the Beachys could bale the hay.

We were finishing supper on Wednesday when tractor and baler rumbled in.

Three handsome bales in their tidy nettings. One landed at the far edge of the garden just beyond my dwarf sunflowers. 

Before dark the bales had been trundled off, winter feed stored on a local Beachy farm.

A brief midnight shower has returned us to heat and high humidity. 

Roll on, July!