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Posted 7/5/2012 7:50am by Julie Hurst / Roy Brubaker.

My eyes were immediately drawn high to the dusty rafters where a chorus of pigeons shifted and cooed, backlit by the sunlight streaming through the bent and broken louvers. Large columns of tightly bound hay bales rose high on either side, balancing one on top of the other.  I inhaled the sweet aroma of cut grass and alfalfa; a reminder that death sustains life through the dormant winter and I am quieted, my rush to complete chores interrupted by a moment in our barn sanctuary.  In a hot, dry year when so many farmers are struggling because of drought, a barn stacked full of hay, cut, baled and purchased from a neighbor farmer, is much to be thankful for.