“Variety is the mother of enjoyment.”
|"Please not another hay post."|
That song is bouncing around in my head.
Been away to long from my baby’s side.
Ride, ride, ride
Hitchin a Ride.
I love that song; it is going to be stuck there for a long time now. I love the original by Vanity Fare in 1968 the best. Ok enough about the song, here is why it is there.
|For Leenie :.)|
My Hero was going back to check out those hay fields I mentioned yesterday. He has to make sure the equipment can get through the bush. There may be fallen trees or whatever back there, after the winter. He asked me if I would like to go. Now comes the song Ride, ride, ride.
I jump at the chance to spend some time with My Hero, and a chance to explore a part of our bush I have not seen for awhile. I run and put my old black and white, polka dot boots on, for their last trip. Tomorrow is garbage day. I climb into the backhoe.
|Bounce, bounce, bounce.|
We bounce down the dusty, old lane till we stop at a hayfield so My Hero can open a gate. I jump out and decide to hike the rest of the way and get away from the banging, clanging, and uncomfortable seat (fender) of the backhoe. We will meet back in the bush.
|Not the hawk.|
I watch as a red tail hawk soars overhead, it’s familiar screeching, making me smile. I watch as four turkey vultures circle around a spot in the field. There are two more on the ground. I must go and see what they have. Hawks are beautiful, on the other hand turkey vultures, not so much. Poor rabbit, I like rabbits.
I head through the field of hay bales finished just before our rain and then I hear the backhoe banging, and clanging. He must have found something to move. I head through the overgrown lane-way. It is very lush and green; it appears we are not in a drought around here. The deer flies are nasty; they buzz annoyingly around my head. Swat, swat. There are no mosquitoes but that could be due to the fact there is a nice strong breeze to keep them away. I have missed this place. I have not been back here since I was snowshoeing in the winter. I see the sun peeking through the trees, it is so beautiful.
I make it to the group of four hay fields waiting to be cut. Despite the top looking dry it is full of lush green, clover and alfalfa. This will make for a lot of new bales.
I decide to check out a place I have heard the young people talking about. A party place if you will. There seems to be a lot of activity on these summer weekends. I can tell by the amount of traffic down this very bad, full of big rocks, side road. I hike up a very high ridge and see this beautiful site. I can see why it would be a great party place. This is an old abandoned quarry site. It is isolated, and no one will ever find you. The Mother in me shudders, thinking about what could happen with alcohol, young people, and high rocky edges.
|Do you know where your children are?|
I hear the backhoe, far in the distance, I scramble down the bank. I am getting tired, and do not want to miss my ride back. I catch up with My Hero; we chat and make plans for the weekend, and about getting these last fields done.
Ride, ride, ride.
Back at the house I place my boots in the garbage bag. Thanks for the memories.