The sun is breaking through the early morning mist and the ground is frozen solid. It’s the sort of morning that sheep farmers dream of, cold and frosty to “kill off bugs”, with sunshine on the sheep’s backs. I stand by the side of the road squinting into the sun, waiting for the funeral cortege. At this time of year, the mountains all around are so steep that we only see sunlight in the very middle of the day.
When we bought our farm, the previous farmer had to leave through ill health, and while he was happy that it had been bought by a family who wanted to farm, he had already had to move out and did not want to meet us. He wanted to remember the farm as it was, having lived and worked there for 50 years.
