Pete then attempted to reassure me that the hay being cut today would be just fine. I did not agree. We tabled the issue because he had to get work done and I had to head for town.
Pete was heading over to John’s when I got home. He said he’d misunderstood John – that he did indeed have a second cutting of hay, which he cut and baled a few weeks ago. Hearing this, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, he came home with a truckload of dry hay.
I had to clean the hay barn, which I did. I then cleaned the chicken and goat pens. I usually do this on Wednesdays but decided to get a jump on it so that I can spend time with my horses tomorrow.
So, I didn’t have time to think about my father today, or his death. In fact, I just realized he died on this date, several years ago, when I typed in September 21.
I now often wonder if when people die, if they are still with us; we just are unable to acknowledge their presence. The same with animals. They all have just taken another form.
Sometimes I think that both my mother and father, who were both avid readers, are somehow responsible for the more serendipitous aspects of this book project. Maybe so, maybe not. Then again, I might be following the paths that they had to abandon. Yes, that’s probably it. This, right now makes the most sense to me.
I wish I could stop thinking about this because there are not, and probably will never be, any clearly definitive answers.
Next: 262/ 9/22/21: Autumn |