In the morning, when the sun is coming up over the trees, and there is still a shadow in the yard, my husband is generally on his way to work up the river.
Today, however, he drove first to the other field, where bails have been waiting for the buyer to gather them up, and they were quite ungathered. And rain is on the way. So ...
A few sharp raps on a bedroom door, and the older of the two Young Giants was roused, and off they went in the "white pickup" (see it? It's a stake truck. A big one.) to put the hay into the barn so it won't get wet and therefore moldy and unsuitable both for sale and for our own antique bovine critter or even the World's Ugliest Goat. (Oldest living domesticated cow, I figure. An experiment in bovine longevity.)
And then they returned, and the dad person went into the garage to look for the tarp so that he could cover the bailer. And was the tarp there? Waiting? Handy? Ready for the man who's at this point two hours late to work? No. Of course it wasn't.
So off he went, down the driveway, across the road, to the other garage, to get the tarp. And then back to cover the bailer, and back inside to take another shower and get ready for work again.
Where is that guy who said he wants to buy the hay? That's what I want to know.