Hay field

The sight of hay bales always makes me nostalgic.  While the labour intensive task that I remember has changed greatly, the smell of fresh hay has not.






While I would never advocate a return to the old ways of doing things, I do really like this poem, and I think it speaks to the longing for a simpler time in all of us:

Haymaking


I sigh for the toil that was mingled with fun,
The contentment we felt when the end had been won,
And the sound, peaceful slumber when daylight was done.

The lush grass of Lehigh, it grows as of yore,
The hay smells as sweetly, the sun is as bright;
But all the old glory of hay-time is o'er,
And the toil of the season has lost its delight;
The scythe and the hay rake are hung up for show,
The fork gives the tedder its place in the row;
And gone are the joys of the loved long ago.

Thomas English (1819-1902)