Saturday, June 7, 2014:
It is dark, but the men aren’t yet home from the hayfield; there is rain predicted for tomorrow, and they will work until dew settling on the cut grass makes it too damp to bale. I am stuck at home baking the week’s bread, started before we knew we would be able to take up that hay. There is a gibbous moon with a pink spark – Mars? – at two o’clock, and in the pasture across the valley the fireflies come and go with short, sharp sparks, not like the long, lazy blinking of later summer. It is getting cool.
The ram lambs were separated from the ewes today, and the night is punctuated with high-pitched, staccato bleats.