you're not missing much. when i was twelve years old my dad would be bailing hay in one field, and i was driving his old chevy around the other field picking up the bales and throwing them on the wagon, then id go unload them in the barn, and repeat.

by the end of a haying day, there are small little plant parts everywhere, your pockets, you underwear, ALL OVER your forearms, you socks...everywhere.

but seeing that barn full of hay at the end of the summer was a good feeling, but it sucked because it meant it was time to cut firewood.