Harvesting Hay  I'm riding in a mini van with my mom that my aunt, I think Carla Redding, is driving. There is food in the front of the van. I am in back. I ask if I can have a piece of apple, which is cut up. My mom says the apples have holes in them. I say I don't care about that. Carla says, "Good": she is glad I don't care about the holes in the apples. We drive very close to other vehicles. The lanes are narrow and the cars are packed tight, one next to the other. It is stop-and-go traffic. We go through an area where some farmer men are harvesting hay. We drive through a field area where hay has been cut. Farmers with pitchforks move the hay. Hay bales are being made.  I'm with my housemate Stephen Ramos and his father Franco in a large barn that the Ramos' own. We have to move hay bales. Stephen and I use a wooden cart to move the bales. I suggest we start at the near end and take the bales from that side, rather than haul bales from farther down through the narrow space along the near bales. Stephen doesn't agree with my suggestion. We move the bales in his way.