Get a whiff: There’s nothing like the smell of summer on the farm

Life on the farm now smells like hard work, sunshine and memories. It smells like fresh-cut hay drying in the field, warm soil after a rain, leather gloves and diesel fuel clinging to hot tractor engines.

For me personally, the seasonal perfume is a mix of insect repellent and sunscreen, which leaves me wondering exactly which barrier is protecting me more.

Do sunscreen and bug spray work together as a team, or are they battling each other for control somewhere on my arms and neck?

Either way, one keeps me from burning up and the other keeps me from being carried away by mosquitoes. So, I’m calling it a successful partnership.

And around here OFF! Deep Woods insect repellent isn’t just about mosquitoes. It’s about ticks, too. One person living in my house has alpha-gal syndrome — and that is enough.

That reality changes the way you think about every tick bite, every walk through tall grass and every square hay bale you stack in the barn.

You become a little more aware of what’s crawling on your jeans after checking cattle or wandering through a hayfield. Tick prevention stops being optional in a hurry.

Still, this time of year offers plenty of reminders about why we love rural life despite all the itchy inconveniences.

The barn kittens have reached that fun, playful stage where they spend half the day pouncing on each other, chasing shadows, climbing straw bales and attacking anything that moves, including unsuspecting bootlaces.

Around here, our barn cats get names inspired by country music legends — Tammy, Tanya, Patsy, Charley — names with a little history and personality behind them.

There was really only one fitting choice for the new little black fluffy kitten who struts around the barn like he owns the place. I dubbed him Cash, after the “Man in Black” himself. Much like Johnny Cash, this kitten already seems equal parts troublemaker and entertainer.

He appears out of nowhere, causes a little chaos, disappears for a while and then comes back looking completely innocent. The name fits him so perfectly it’s hard to imagine him being called anything else.

The lightning bugs blinking across the bottom hayfield at dusk have been putting on quite the light show lately. Somehow, no matter how many summers I have seen, that sight never gets old.

They rise slowly out of the grass after the pink sky fades and the sun goes down, flickering like tiny floating lanterns against the darkening sky.

So, yes, these days my perfume of choice is OFF! Deep Woods. It’s the scent of days spent checking cattle, pulling weeds, walking fence lines, filling mineral feeders and lingering at the gate to watch the sun settle behind the hayfield while mosquitoes circle like tiny fighter jets searching for an opening.

It’s part necessity, part survival strategy and part unofficial badge of rural summertime. It may not come from a fancy fragrance counter at Kohl’s, but around here, mixed with sunscreen, fresh-cut grass, warm dirt, diesel fuel and a little barn dust, it smells an awful lot like summer’s arrival.