Chris Hardie

There’s a social media post that’s been circulating for a few years that shows a farmer driving a tractor baling hay with three people stacking bales on the wagon with the words: “You don’t know the meaning of hard work until you spend a summer baling hay.”

I am thankful in many ways for growing up and moving back to the farm but also appreciative of not having to stack hay bales anymore.

Our nation is getting ready to party as we celebrate our 246th on July 4.

Beating the summer heat is a pretty simple task when it involves turning on the central air conditioning unit and staying indoors.

I stood outside and watched the dark skies as the rumble of thunder echoed through the valley.

For as long as I can remember, the sprawling silver maple trees have stood on the lawn area of our farm.

Memorial Day weekend is the sort-of unofficial start to summer even though the solstice is still a few weeks away.

The changing of the seasons is affirmed with the arrival of our migrating avian friends. These actual snowbirds have come to tell us that spring is here.

I have a confession to make that will not shock long time readers of this column or anyone who knows me.

I’m putting the blame squarely on Mother Nature’s shoulders, but it’s happening again this year, despite my best efforts to prevent it.