My, What a Pretty Haystack and Other Exaggerated Claims of Beauty

I do not know why I find haystacks to be beautiful. Or dirt roads. Or airplane hangers. But I do. It has become increasingly clear that what I may find to be ridiculously charming may not be considered the norm for what is usually ridiculously charming, ie: baby turtles, tiny spoons, a Bed and Breakfast on a winter evening. Although I will admit those things are utterly adorable. I mean, c'mon, TINY SPOONS?!

And what is the cause for finding such things as charming? Is it my exaggerated manner in thinking or speaking? Is it my affinity towards romanticizing events or conversations? Who knows.

Like most things we'll just blame it all on my childhood and call it a day.

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It was September of 2011 and eight months into my year-long stint of teaching English in the Republic of Georgia. I was placed on a bus next to a young man who was recently placed in my town. We were headed to Batumi, a sea-side town, to attend the premiere of "Keto and Kote" (a Georgian version of Romeo and Juliet).

"So, how did you spend your summer?" the young man asked me.
"I backpacked through the Balkans and worked on a farm in Romania."
"Oh! That's interesting. I don't know many people who have been to that part of the world. Did you go alone?"
"Yeah, but I met a lot of people along the way so I was never really alone."
"How was it?"
"Beautiful."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I was trying to get to this graveyard in Romania on the Ukrainian border-"
"A graveyard?"
"Yeah, I really enjoy graveyards. It's called THE MERRY CEMETERY. Tell me that you wouldn't want to go there with a name like that?"
"No, no. I understand...I think."
"You like graveyards too?"
"...I don't mind them."
"Oh! Good! I need a friend in town to explore graveyards with. It has taken me forever to find some in town. ANYWAYS, I wanted to find this graveyard, which I did and it was awesome and worth the whole trip, but I detoured through the Balkans and I found something interesting."
"Yeah? What?"
"Haystacks."
"Haystacks?"
"Yeah, I also have a thing for haystacks."
"How so?"
"Well, I think they're so beautiful."
"Beautiful?"
"Yeah. It's just so quaint. And in America we have a certain way of making haystacks. I did a road-trip around America with my father last summer and I drove him crazy with requests to pull over to look at haystacks and windmills. There's just so much of it out West!"
"Windmills also?"
 "Yes! But let's stay on track. Haystacks...I never really thought about the process of making hay. I just spent my time skipping around haystacks exclaiming 'My, what a pretty haystack!' totally uneducated about the hay-making process.  And then I realized that in Bosnia or in Romania or even here in Georgia it is a totally different process. They look like little igloos. There is a completely different technique when it comes to making hay."
"Yeah, I noticed the haystacks here do look different."
"Right. And then I worked on a horse ranch in the middle of Transylvania in Romania, yeah I know that sounds fake but it's true, and my only task was to make hay. Hay is very important on a horse ranch."
"How was it?"
"AWFUL! I had blisters on my hands from all the raking. DO YOU KNOW HOW HEAVY GRASS CAN BE WHEN IT IS PILED UP?"
"...heavy?"
"SO. HEAVY."
"Right."
"It was a long process. I felt so ignorant about this way of life. The hay-making never ends. The horses never stop needing hay...unless they die. Hay can make or break an entire farm. It can go on for infinity if done right. Zoli, the farmer, would say to me every morning 'we must turn the grass!' 'we must make more hay.' And so I would go to the field and turn the grass. I never stopped making hay."
"Sounds tiring."
"I never wanted to look at hay after that."
"So are haystacks still pretty to you?"
"Of course they are. I just don't want to make any haystacks for a very long time."
"I don't think I've ever heard anybody talk about hay the way that you have. Or have met anybody who thought they were pretty."
"I could go on about the things I find enchanting."
"I bet you could."