Mowing the grass and putting up the hay was a major and important task. Feed had to be prepared for the animals in the barn so that they could make it through to the following spring healthy and well-fed.<\/p>\n
In the old days, the fields were mowed by hand with scythes, and a good scytheman was highly valued. The villagers helped one another, mowing at one farmer\u2019s house one day, at another\u2019s the next, and so on.<\/p>\n
A day or two before mowing, Grandpa would take his scythe, hammer, and anvil, bring a small pot of water, lie down in a suitable place in the yard, usually beneath the linden tree, and begin klepati<\/em> the scythe. It was a gentle, almost melancholic tapping of the hammer against the blade, in an even, soothing rhythm, thinning the metal so that the blade would be sharp and strong enough to withstand the work ahead.<\/p>\n As he tapped lightly, Grandpa would occasionally dip the hammer in water to cool the spot where he was striking it. He was careful to draw the hammer slowly toward himself as he worked toward the edge of the blade, so that it would remain intact and free of cracks.<\/p>\n Mowing day began at the first light of dawn, when a glow could be seen on the horizon, while the stars and moon were still shining in the early morning sky. We set out early, before the summer heat, while the grass was still bent beneath the morning dew.<\/p>\n The mowing had to be finished, or at least stopped, well before noon. The scythemen stood side by side and, one after another, each behind the other, cut his swath, working tirelessly until the sun told them it was time to stop.<\/p>\n I loved watching them mow\u2014the graceful, rhythmic movements of the scythes laying down swath after swath of grass, sending grasshoppers, beetles, butterflies, and all sorts of larger and smaller reptiles fleeing from beneath the blades.<\/p>\n That was why, after waking up, I would impatiently eat my breakfast as quickly as possible, sling a traditional Lika knitted bag containing water and u\u0161tipci<\/em> over my shoulder, and hurry toward Ra\u0161novac.<\/p>\n I knew the way well: from behind the house, across the wooden footbridge through the hedge, then along the path toward the Naran\u010di\u0107 stream, and onto the road across the bridge, beneath which the streambed yawned empty. Through Sunajke, then through Sunajkov Gaj, whose pleasant shade and half-darkness I eagerly welcomed as an escape from the heat, and before long I would reach Ra\u0161novci.<\/p>\n There was only the meadow by Jasle to cross. I would go around a few bushes, and Jadova would already come into view. A few more steps and the scythemen would appear before me, and below them lay Luka Stolina, shaded by huge, luxuriant willow trees.<\/p>\n They would greet me cheerfully, taking a break over u\u0161tipci<\/em>, a small glass of rakija, and water. The water would soon run out, and I would head down along the Jadova to the nearby Perinovac spring to fetch more.<\/p>\n Once, I went to the spring carrying a two-litre glass bottle\u2014a kind of bottle that was not easy to come by in those days. On the way back, just before reaching the meadow, I stumbled and fell, and the bottle shattered.<\/p>\n Well, that was when I truly saw Grandpa angry\u2014perhaps more because of the bottle than because of the water.<\/p>\n The very next day, the freshly mown grass had to be turned so that it would dry evenly. All of us in the household went, except for the lady of the house, who stayed behind to prepare lunch.<\/p>\n The swaths were turned with three-pronged forks, exposing the undried grass to the sun.<\/p>\n I was a good worker and a useful helper the following day, when the hay was gathered into piles, then loaded onto the cart in the evening and taken home. There it was thrown up into the hayloft and stacked, with the surplus piled into haystacks.<\/p>\n I remember those days filled with sweat and exhaustion. By the end of them, I could hardly wait to get to bed and sleep the deep, dreamless sleep of complete fatigue.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u017deljko Naran\u010di\u0107<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"inline_featured_image":false},"atribut":[30],"class_list":["post-5264","artikl","type-artikl","status-publish","hentry","atribut-poems"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n