I’ve been thinking about our summer at Flynn’s farm. I’ve especially been thinking about a span of a couple of weeks during that summer.
Mom was back and forth to Media while Dad was working in that area. You and I occasionally went with her. The rest of the time we spent home and at the farm.
Jane and Dave went to a show one week. You and I were two who stayed behind to take care of the horses both there and at the neighbor’s.
The day they were coming home we went down to feed the neighbor’s horses for the last time. As we were pulling apart bales of hay I saw smoke coming from one and said something to you. At first we thought it might just be dust. As I pulled another bale apart I realized those bales were HOT! You came over and felt it. It was at that point we realized that the hay was baled wet and we had the possibility of spontaneous combustion on our hands.
Having seen that happen once before, neither of us had a great desire to see it again any time soon. We dashed around, grabbing bales, sticking our hands between the flakes and ripping apart the bales that were hot. We also ripped apart the hot flakes. Tthen we went around the stalls and took the flakes away from the horses. We didn’t want any colicky horses on our hands!
The Flynns and their neighbors came home not long afterwards. The neighbors came up to bitch us out for making a mess of the barn. You told them what happened and said “If the barn had caught fire I would not have run back in to get the horses.” That echoed exactly how I felt because I am deathly afraid of fire. Mr. Neighborman realized his error and thanked you.