I just finished unloading and stacking a load of hay bales in the barn. You loved how it looked when the barn was well stocked with hay; the bales neatly stacked on their raised plywood platforms in the middle storage area. This is another one of those seemingly mundane activities that makes me think of you. Partly because you were always ready to jump in and lend a hand (and a strong back) with the labor. But also, for the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment associated with this simple but crucial task in the care of the horses.
I feel your lingering presence here in the barn, perhaps more than anywhere else at the farm, with the exception of the front porch. Your mom religiously continues her ritual of feeding the horses and sweeping the barn every evening. I think she feels close to you here as well; and I am thankful for her dependable help.
The horses seem excited at the prospect of new hay and happy to be buffered from the 96-degree midday heat in their quasi-air-conditioned stalls. With the hay stores replenished and the feed barrels full, everything is as it should be here in the barn, except of course for one thing!
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