The back field that was chest high in Queen Ann's Lace so tightly packed it looked as if it had been broadcast deliberately made 31 bales. (Traditionally, that's been the best ground). I'd already looked at it and suggested burning it off so that the grass [if any] would have a chance without having to compete.) The farmer thought he could use it for bedding. I knew he was going to have to pay quite a bit for baling, so I didn't want him to feel as if he had to. I told him he could just have it if he wanted it.
The rest of the field made 51 bales, which we split, each getting 25 and a half bales. (We didn't really split a bale. I gave that one to him, too.) He then wanted to know how many I wanted to keep. I settled on 12 bales, so he said he'd pay me for the other 14. Then he asked how much I wanted a bale. I didn't know the going rate, nor did he, but he suggested $35 a bale this year, but sort of hinted it might be more next year. He then wrote me a check before he left.
satisfied