As I pulled up at the gate this evening, I saw my neighbour in his tractor, just about to head up his drive again, scraping the metal from the driveway and rearranging it. He is doing a great job, and looking at the result, you sort of know he really knows what he is doing. Normally he has his fox terrier with him, (at least he does when he drives down to deposit his rubbish bin on a Thursday evening).
I usually have at least a 15 minute chinwag, and am always amazed at his energy. He is also a mine of information for us townies who really have NO clue what we are doing most of the time. My neighbour is 82! Sadly, I can't help thinking of my Dad, who was the same age when he died, having had ill health for at least 40 of those years. Two very different stories, but I know they would have got on famously.
There isn't a day goes by that I don't wonder about how Dad would have responded to Coneysthorpe; its wonderful sunsets, noisy birdlife and hairy Highland cattle. I could just see him walking down the road with his stick or taming the vegetable patch. Here he is, on his allotment, only three years ago. How I weep