On the far side of the shallow valley behind our house, the field edge footpath ascends gently and joins a track that leads to a sand quarry in one direction, and a farmyard, including this barn, in the other. We occasionally meet the farmer as we walk the dogs, and he is driving along the track, no doubt to inspect his fields – he is always very courteous, pulling his vehicle off of then track to allow us by safely. I was once waling the dogs along the track on a frosty morning, happily in a world of my own, when I heard an odd tinkling sound. I turned to see the farmer following at a discrete distance in his Landrover, breaking the ice on the puddles as he drove through. I don’t know how long he had been following! It was my turn to step off the track, and let him by.
