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bailing hats

I’m what the old timers might call a ‘gentleman farmer.' I’ve got the acreage, the tractor and bib overalls... but what I’m lacking is experience. I’ve spent too many years with a guitar or laptop in my hands instead of pitch fork or a garden rake. Building brands instead of branding cows.

But I do love it. Farming. So did my bride. It’s part of why we live where we live and make the decisions we make. Because there’s a big difference between singing about the good life and actually living it.

I have more time on my hands these days. And less in some ways, with little Indy. And I’m trying to spend more of that time doing the things I want to do...

The hay in the back field behind the cemetery was needing cut and bailed one more time before winter and since I had Tuesday afternoon open, with nothing on my plate... I put my cowboy hat on and jumped up on the tractor. And then I proceeded to make a gazillion laps around the fieldturning the tall, lush grass in front of me into one long pile of haysorta like peeling an apple in one strand with a pocket knife.

I was feeling pretty good about myself, sitting up there on that New Holland... admiring the farmhouse in front of me and the pretty row of fresh-cut hay behind me...

All was going well until the sun ducked behind a cloud and a big gust of wind proceeded to take my newfound farming swagger and my best straw Resistol cowboy hat and run them both through the hay-bine machine that I was pulling behind the tractor.

At first, I had thought that maybe it’d just blown off to the side and I could just pick it up on my next lap around the field, until I got to the spot where I’d lost it...

When I found my hat... it, along with my manly pride... was pretty bent out of shape.

Luckily though, no one was around to see it happen but me.

And you...

Did I mention that I’m a gentleman farmer?



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