Originally published December 2021.
How uninvited guests can bring unexpected delights
Farmers are apt to rail against uninvited people on their land. I am no exception, yet the farm would be a poorer place without them. ‘The 1066’ runs out from Pevensey Castle’s Roman walls and Norman keep, along our riverbank and on across the county. On a busy summer weekend, several hundred people will cross the farm and in the week it can be nearly as busy. Many thousands of visits in a year. In the depths of winter or in bad weather, nobody comes. We can claim some peace in those moments.
When stopped on the path, visitors are immediately defensive. Polite enquiry into their business though, is greeted with relief and what follows is usually a genuine interest in the farmer before them. Somehow their traverse through someone’s home is made more remarkable by the actual manifestation of that someone. In welcoming them, the landscape becomes more special and more connected. They, too, become more acceptable to the farmer.
“He had grown up in the Italian Dolomites on a mountain stock farm, one where in winter the cows were housed in a downstairs room in the family home”
Occasionally my interruption of strangers brings great reward. Repairing a gate one day, a conversation occurred with a small white haired, goat-like man. He had grown up in the Italian Dolomites on a mountain stock farm, one where in winter the cows were housed in a downstairs room in the family home. He knew our cattle well and had endless questions about keeping animals in our wet grazing and amazement at the number of stocks looked after by one man. He is a regular passer-by, but our greeting has the warmth and animation of a shared devotion.
A guidebook of Where to watch birds in Sussex brings many bird watchers. Telescopes and expensive binoculars are often accompanied by the question, “Anything special about?” Recently a man in a shabby black raincoat, tall and whiskered, hove into view. He carried an ancient pair of binoculars, which looked like they had a career on a ship a hundred years ago. I wasn’t wrong, for he was an avid collector of Russian naval binoculars, a subject new to the farmer. Nor did he ask if anything ‘special’ was about, but there followed a learned lecture on how many sets of binoculars were exported from Petersburg in the 1950s,with a passionate description of a wren he had managed to actually focus upon through his antique. How right he was too, to take such pleasure in this little treasure.
“Other than the farm team and the authority responsible for the river, almost no one else uses the trail for work“
Several locals walk their dogs or ride their horses, policing the path or providing me with often useful information, typically along the lines of, “You’ve got a sheep in the ditch” or “Should they be lying on their own with their feet in the air?” These are often people we know, out for a bit of exercise and relaxation. Other than the farm team and the authority responsible for the management of the river, almost no one else uses the trail for work.
Not long ago I intercepted a scruffy collie apparently, at first sight, on its own. A nightmare scenario, potentially, but before long an equally scruffy pony with a rather threadbare-looking lady on top appeared. They were clearly together and, unusually for a loose collie, united by a strong aura of serenity. As the lady came closer, she could be recognised, and agitation ceased. Here was Minty, head of an animal rescue charity, a true country sort, hewn of the Wealden sands, with eyes that sparkle at the same time as seeing right through you, with whom it is always a joy to share a thought.
The path is a good way in which to share the farm. Its users keep us on the straight and narrow, and in adhering to it themselves, enrich our solitary lives. This rural calm is often forgotten when we rail against the uninvited people on ‘our’ land.
