*BEEP*, *BEEP*, *BEE*- The alarm clock was cut off in it’s assault to the ears by Janet’s weathered hand. Janet dragged herself out of her cozy bed. She had been much too exhausted from the lambing the night before to bother changing out of her ripped tan carhartts and disheveled checkered flannel, let alone remove her salt and pepper hair from it’s usual no-nonsense braid. Janet was a study in contrasts. Her slightly arthritic hands were attached to sturdy, robust arms from lifting and throwing hundreds upon hundreds of hay bales summer after summer. A kind, sun worn face housed forget-me-not blue eyes, tired and surprised at the same time, like Janet had seen just about all the world had to offer her and still couldn’t quite believe it. When she started up the old, rusty, navy farm truck the sun was just peeping over the trees, timid and unsure of itself. Grunting slightly from the effort of opening the heavy oak barn doors, Janet entered the barn and stood for a moment in the doorway, taking in her life’s work. The ancient dust swirled in the ever-brighter sunlight, making organic shapes and patterns. A content sigh escaped from Janet’s chapped lips, and she picked up the hay bale left there the night before. Time for chores.