The first thing I noticed when I stepped out my front door was the sweet-and-sour scent of freshly mown hay. We live across the road from Mennonite dairy farmers, and as my snatched moments of uninterrupted quiet passed by, another sense was awakened. This time it was my ears perking to the approaching hum of the farmer’s tractor with the rake attached. Our neighbor was turning over the crop to ready it for baling and stacking and storing—a winter feast for his animals.
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