"Nice horsy," he said, and Catrin had to laugh. "Ah, there is that smile, li'l miss. It's good to see it again," he said with a wink.

She made no reply, unsure of what to say, and returned to her work. As she opened a bale of hay, mold dust clouded the air. They had lost too much hay to mold this year, and she knew not to feed the horses moldy hay. There was not much more they could have done to prevent the problem, though. The weather had turned bad at harvest time, and they had not been able to get the hay fully dry before bailing it. Forced to store the hay damp, they salted it to reduce moisture, stave off mold, and help prevent fire. Mold claimed much of the hay nonetheless, but at least it had not caught fire.

Her grandfather had lost a barn to a fire caused by wet hay. When hay dries, it goes through a process called a sweat, where it sheds water and produces heat. If packed too tightly, intense heat can build up and cause spontaneous combustion. The lesson had been passed to her father then down to Catrin. It was something she planned to teach her own children someday.

The moldy bale of hay she threw to the steer, which could eat just about anything, and she grabbed another bale for the horses. After giving each horse two slices of hay, she collected the water buckets, carrying them to the well her father and Benjin had dug long ago. It was something the men took great pride in, and Catrin was glad to have it. Her father often said it was not deep enough for his liking, and he feared it would run dry during droughts, but it had yet to fail them.

He once explained to Catrin that they were at the upper edge of an artesian basin. Water became trapped between layers of rock and was subjected to immense pressure. If you were to penetrate the rock anywhere along the basin, water would rise on its own, possibly forming a small fountain. Some places in Harborton had such wells, which had been allowing water to escape for hundreds of years.