Haying time

My father's sister N and her husband J are the last farmers in my family. Two generations ago all of them worked on their farms. Some years ago my nephew B inherited his parents farm. He will be probably the last one. He is not married. No girlfriend. No kids. Being a farmer in The Netherlands is for most citygirls in my country not compelling. Why? Too much work, hardly time for holidays, hard living, lack of ability to communicate of farmers and non-sustainability. It's a generalisation. Too many false presuppositions but that's the general picture on farming in my country.

I guess I was around 10 years old. Some day in May or June. Haying time. My father asked me if I wanted to join him to harvest hay on uncle J' farm. OK for me. Together with my fathers new moped we drove.

We worked for some hours. Uncle J, my dad, another man (can't remember a name or face) and me. The smell of hay and diesel. Transpiration. Hot sun. When our work was finished uncle J and my daddy told me both that they were proud on my hard work. We drank something.

We drove home in 20 minutes while the sun was going down. The weather was warm. Me alone with my dad. My arms around his belly. Wind in my hair. I felt tired, proud and loved. I felt like a real man fostered in a man's world. Happy! I can't remember but I must have slept quickly in my own bed. Satisfied and with a big smile.