I could call this the summer of the wheat. Or the oats. But it's more like the summer of long silences, and solitude, and study, interspersed with bouts of furiously hard work.
Stacking sheaves of oats into rain-shedding shocks.
Hiding like a wild creature, seeing what they see.
My daddy, temporarily taking the team's place.
Life is so fast paced at times that's imagining an era where everything was done by hand is beyond our reach. Except, not anymore. I love knowing how to do these things.
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