making hay

The clouds were gathering as the last of the 90 bales were safely stowed in the barn. It was as hot as bejezus, 90 in the shade, and Dianne was sweating as she ran the unairconditioned forklift. I could prove how miserable she was after being in the field for a week or so, but she said she would kill me if I posted the picture of her looking, as Frank said, "like you lost the war." I've always heard that one helps one's neighbors with haying, so I drove the air conditioned truck and trailer. I can't imagine what it was like with pitchforks instead of forklifts. Lawsykins!
And then the heavens opened.