Pitching hay is just an impossibly bucolic activity.
The hay is kind of fluffy when it's pitched in, and it fills the hay mow quickly. The first time we did this, the hay mow was full and we still had more hay that we needed to put in there. That's when I remembered that Laura Ingalls Wilder used to go out with Pa and trample down the hay in the wagon when he was pitching the hay stacks in at haying time. So I climbed up into the hay mow and trampled the hay, just like Half-Pint. I knew my obsessive reading of the Little House books would come in handy one day . . .
I basically fling myself into the hay mow and then stand up and stomp around on the hay to press it down. It's kind of fun, although climbing into the hay mow is a little bit awkward.
After the flinging and before I got to my feet. See? Awkward.
I'm sure you noticed Mia's head peering up at me from the bottom of that photo. I think she wanted to play in the hay mow, too. Or maybe she was just bemused by what the crazy human was doing now. She likes to hang around when we're working. She's not very helpful, but she is good company. And she doesn't mind getting covered with hay.
What a good farm dog.
This should be the last hay bale the sheep will need this winter. The grass will start growing soon and then they can be let loose on the pastures, where they can graze with no assistance from us.
And that's the end of our Saturday fun. But who knows what next Saturday will bring? It's always a party at Blackrock!