The hay is brought in for the winter. In May, the pasture will have come back to life. The wheel spins. What grows will become manure, which in turn will be turned into compost, which will be used to fertilize the soil, which will make other things grow. It comes and goes. A bit like the tides.
For several months, we’ve been getting pounded ad nauseam by inflation and labor shortages. A question: how is it that we are so suddenly lacking in labor power? Perhaps the government here, like the one in China, has been lying to us about the true death toll from COVID? Obviously, I’m smiling here. But many believe it. More and more people believe all kinds of things. And it is worrying. Where does this defect come from? Whose fault is it ?
I was brought up with certain values. Basically, just about any that Donald Trump seems to be lacking. This social drift is fascinating. Worrying certainly, for the rest of the world, but also revealing. In the mid-term elections, the discomfiture of the Republican henchmen of the former president (the man will never be noble) should not delight us too much. They stay behind the scenes and are more dangerous in silence than when they shout. They have not disappeared, and tell themselves that their time will come.
We come back here. To measure the value of hay, a forage probe is used. A kind of hollow, empty and sharp stem that you insert up to the middle of the boot and from which you remove a carrot to “read” the quality of its composition. A reflection: perhaps there are too many probes and not enough solutions? When the hay is mown, baled and stored, it’s a little late to complain. Sometimes you can play a little on the price, but so little; and impossible in 2022 because this, because that…
Ever since this inflation started, I’ve been hearing stories of people getting richer. We don’t talk about it too loudly. Any stock-outs seem to justify an explosion in prices and profits. And it’s sometimes a little vulgar. Some industries make so much profit that it’s “embarrassing” (a bourgeois gentleman industrial leader was quoted verbatim earlier in a conversation this fall).
So why does moral and economic bankruptcy always seem to stalk society? There are years when the hay is exceptional and others, mediocre. The price seems destined to increase.
The country’s households are getting poorer, real estate values have melted. And yet, everything increases. I’m no economist, but there are people and businesses somewhere taking advantage of this tidal effect (when the tide is low at one end of the ocean, it’s high elsewhere, so those cycles go, thanks la moon !). It’s like eclipses; it depends on the point of view. Some remain in the shadows. And others take advantage of the rays of light with impunity (search a little, the profits of some are hallucinating, but we don’t talk about it).
My hay costs more to produce. The causes: the price of diesel and agricultural equipment, the cost of seeds and inputs, the salaries of operators… I was even told verbally that the twine that encloses the bales of hay has doubled. Seems to me that the money does end up somewhere in a pocket or a safe, at least in taxes and taxes, right?
We don’t make up; few people complain when things are going well. It’s when it sucks that we scream. On the one hand, we are told that things are going badly, and on the other, the value of almost everything we buy increases. In an economic system, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Seen from here, the future is assured. We will be able to wish each other real patents on New Year’s Day.
It’s a decent year for hay, nothing more. Lots of volume, but average quality. And the price has gone up again. It strangely challenges my understanding of supply and demand. In fact, many things are disturbed in the recent history of our wonderful world, but everything is normal. No, it wasn’t better before. The old almanacs that I read from time to time predict the future with as much error and accuracy as the mediums of economics. With so many mysteries too. To quote Molière: “Afterwards you will teach me the almanac, to know when there is moonlight and when there is none. You can also look at the sky and get an idea. Or soon, dream of going to space for a week all-inclusive. Trump could open a hotel there and cram the aliens or become president there.
In the end, the animals don’t care, their mouths full of hay. Some humans too. I forgot the essential: we predict an unreasonably cold and snowy winter. Invest your money in shovel and toque makers.