Milk weeds, thistles, sunflowers, Queen Anne’s Lace, and don’t forget poison ivy, too.
By any other definition the bane of the farmer, weeds have crowded pastures up and around end gates and fence rows.
Summer is full on. Humidity soaks the morning grass and bathes the day in its damp cloak. Sweat on the brow returns right after a wipe; crops are all planted now.
No rest, of course! There’s hay to be made. Fire the tractor, dust off the rake and hitch up the mower. Baler crews drive country roads, big round bales dot fields standing as mounds on shorn grass. The delight of cows turned out on fresh pasture to graze; the barn is filling up.
The air is heavy with dust and hay chaff. A first cutting of three or so, winter’s feed is stowed away.
June is halfway through the year. June its self is two halves-half preparation, half harvest.
All the season’s on the farm, together in the circle of life.
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