In June the farm seems filled with every shade of green from the yellowing green of grass seed heads to the dark green of shady oak tree branches. We’re poised at the point just before hot summer days dry out the grass and bleach the fields of wheat to dusty yellows.
The grass grows tall in neglected corners.
While clearing a shed we ask why it seems obligatory for every old farm shed to have bottles and jars on a shelf or tucked into a hole in the wall
and to wonder who FG was and what they were doing in the shed in 1884.
Peeling paint on metal reveals the colours underneath.
As Bill filled his sprayer from the water tank the other day, a small rust hole in the water tank finally gave out and as water spurted from the tank it was a race to fill the sprayer before the tank emptied. One slightly frantic phone call later and I was crouched down, finger pressed against the hole feeling like the Dutch boy who saved his country by sticking his finger in the dyke. Believe me, it takes quite a while to fill a 3200 litre sprayer and the hole was inconveniently low. Such is the lot of the farmer’s wife.
In June, there’s time to sit under trees and enjoy the sunshine.
It feels as if summer is truly here.