CHANGE

The temperature was pretty nippy when I went for a walk just before dawn.  First time I’ve needed a hat for months.

The cool weather kept a lot of park walkers home.  Still there were those die-hard runners who will probably be out even when the snow flies.

Another sign of season change is the transforming from bicycles to snowboards in the store window.

The streets were quiet.  University students were probably catching a few extra minutes of snore before running to class.  I was able to stand in the middle of Main Street to catch a shot of the huge Harvest Moon going down.

By the time I was almost home the moon had changed from a dime to fifty cents.

Besides wearing a hat, I’ve also given in and dug out my socks. Erg.  And long pants.  Ice in the bird bath. Yesterday we sent the window unit A.C to the attic to hang out with the Christmas ornaments.  I don’t like to think about it but their turn is coming.

YOU CAN COME OUT OF HIDING, MR. EMPEROR, YOUR CLOTHES LOOK MARVELOUS

Art news is all a-buzz about a painting that had been thought to be a worthless fake and stored for decades in the attic of a Norwegian home.  It has now been identified as an authentic painting by Vincent Van Gogh.

After extensive research, Sunset at Montmajour,  is now considered worth millions instead of being fodder for a yard sale. Alex Reuger, director of the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam (who seems to be almost hyperventilating in this photo) said, "A discovery of this magnitude has never before occurred."

Van Gogh apparently wasn't thrilled with this painting of a sunset, trees and sky.  According to an Associated Press report, he made reference to it in a few letters written the summer of 1888 when he created the work.  He thought the painting flawed.

Yet people are suddenly enthralled with its story, the name, who touched it. So what changed?   It's still a muddy, poorly composed painting. It's probably the result of a bad day with the paint brush, with the sun setting too fast, maybe a bothersome wind and I'll bet there are dead bugs stuck in the paint.  Vincent didn't like it. Neither did anyone else until now.  The emperor is still naked.

However, this was the same summer he created  his masterpiece, Sunflowers.

And one of my very favorites, the Langlois Bridge at Arles with Women Washing.

I guess my take-away is to Keep on Trying.  With every effort something is learned. 

 And for quality control, burn the bad ones.

MAKING BALE

My mom and dad raised big Holstein cows and sold the milk.  There were also many acres of alfalfa hay, corn and grain to be tended and harvested every year.

The job of raking hay was delegated to me as soon as my legs were long enough to reach the double brakes and the clutch on our little Ford tractor.

Photo borrowed from farmgirlfare who’s blog I read often 
to get a hit of ruralness without all the long hours and hard work.

Even after being removed from farm life for decades I’m still fascinated by what’s happening in the fields along the highway.

 Oh, no, rain on downed hay. Mother Nature makes farming such a challenge. 

My dad put up our alfalfa crop into bales a standard size and shape which could be lifted by one person and stored in hay stacks by the barnyard.

Now when I check out hay fields I see a variety of bale shapes.  Like everything else, even hay is supersized.

In grassy fields there are round bales which look a lot like giant chunks of shredded wheat.

Alfalfa is usually baled into big blocks which can only be moved with heavy equipment.

Big blocks stacked.

Wheat straw blocks.

So I wondered what I’d find if I Googled  square vs. round bales.  I was surprised to find strong opinions on both sides.

Square bales are more expensive, but are easier to haul, and stack. Round bales can carry botulism. Square bales, almost no waste.

  

Round bales last well in damp weather.  Square bales wick moisture.

Round bales can be moved by a grandma and a couple of grandkids.

It seems to be a lot like asking which is better…Ford or Chevy.  I just know that after a summer of lifting fifty pound bales  I could beat my younger brother in arm wrestling and fend off a fresh zit-faced juvenile male when necessary.

Oh, yeah, saw these on my morning bike ride. Guess what just fell off the tater truck.  Spud harvest has begun.