Today we started early, 5 a.m she said.
I don't mind to look at the clock but she always insists to never fail time.
The summer has come with gentle sunny mornings. The birds sing loudly and the sheep are chattering like priests. Must be the sun. Can't talk much, otherwise, the devil runs to me. There's no living shadow to shelter us, and it can be hard to be in the fields harvesting the crops. No bother.
Tomorrow we're going to town, sell oasts, potatoes and milk, and maybe trade some eggs too. She loves to go to town; Walk between the houses, see new faces, talk with different people. She often argues a lot during our visits. If there's a soul that touches the word ''farmer'', she starts with arguments, the chaos sets in. Dear God, this woman needs to dip her tongue in pepper.
I don't mess with woman stuff, but sometimes I hear the conversations (got this from her, I guess). They say we carry the world weigh on our small shoulders; I never realized if this was a compliment or an affront. Dear who: These small shoulders never failed us. Period!
I also heard them saying that we work till late. That we don't live, that we don't breathe. She replied saying she breathes the purest airs from hills and that her lungs are made of trees. Poetic? She's right though. Honestly, I don't mind to see the sun setting while the golden light reflects on the wheat fields.
Farm life would be too fancy without workforce. And we know how our oldest generations worked really hard so we can come this far. So we work harder and harder every day. This is our life. And we never lost faith nor strength, will nor joy. I don't pretend to lose it. And I won't ever let them down.