Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Make Hay

 When we moved in to this house, we were informed that Bob always mows the field. The previous owners left us his number in case we didn't want the field mowed or in case Bob forgot.

 This year Bob had been extremely busy and hadn't been able to get to our field. The neighbors were asking us when Bob was going to mow our field as it was getting very long and starting to attract the wrong types of wildlife (like coyotes).

 We finally got a chance to talk to Bob and he asked if it was alright for his friend to mow our field instead. We don't really care who mows the field, we just want it mowed. Bob's friend brought over his brand new, shiny, mower and made these wonderful round hay bales for us.

 There are some things I really love about living in the country. The people are one of them. Like Bob. I don't know the rest of his name. I don't know his son's name, even though he and his wife lived across the road from us for a couple of years. I don't know Bob's friend's name. I don't need to know their names. If someone asks who mows our field, I say Bob and everyone knows exactly who I'm talking about. If someone asks which house we live in, I don't give them my address, I tell them we live next door to Pete, across the street from Bob's son and EVERYONE knows exactly where I'm talking about. I know some people don't like that about small towns. maybe if I'd lived here forever I wouldn't either, but right now it's one of the things I find most endearing about this place.

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