Where are my scythers?

When I re-read Anna Karenina a little while ago, I came to it older and with a very different perspective than I had the first time through. I wasn't so focused on her tragic love affair, was more appreciative of the rich background and contextual details. For instance, those Russian landowners and their crews of people who cut the hay and grain with scythes; the descriptions of those scenes were wonderful. A group of those strong hearty fellows would get our side yard done in the blink of an eye, in the downing of a shot of vodka.
It's like early summer here, and we don't want to be scything, we want to be walking and drinking it in. We shall not see the likes of this for months.