Mailboxes along the roads and old barns set back in fields overgrown with weeds often served as landmarks in rural Montana where I grew up. These landmarks told us where we were, and how far we had to go. Sometimes they signaled “home” and the end of the road. At other times, barely visible through swirling snow, they told us we had miles to go.
When I started compiling word pictures of these memories, I realized they were like those mailboxes and old barns–identifying places on the road. Here’s one for today…about hay.
Our hay wasn’t seriously good hay. We called it hay but knew by our early teens that real hayfields, like those in southern Montana, would easily put our hay to shame; but it was the only hay we had and when someone said, “Well, better make hay while the sun shines,” we certainly knew what they meant. (more…)







