There are smells from childhood
We remember into old age
A favorite of mine is from age six
When I sat on my father’s lap
Behind Maud and Bird
Our team of Belgian mares
One black one bay
They pulled a mowing machine
Round a field of alfalfa hay
At the end of May
The Pitman rod propelled
The four-foot blade back and forth
With a rhyming clatter
As the stems succumbed to the knives on the blade
The warm sun beamed down
On our dime-store straw hats
With green plastic at the front of their brims
As sweat gathered above our lips
After two rounds of the ten-acre field
The cut hay began to cure
And from that process
Released its memorable scent
Now curing alfalfa warmed by May sun
Makes a heavenly scent every farm boy knows
But better yet comes when it blends with the odor of sweat
From a lathering team pulling a mowing machine