A made a brief visit to John's farmyard today. The organic farm rests in the foothills of the South Downs, surrounded by pastures, ancient hedges and Ash woodland.
The farmyard is a collection of cars, machinery, a tram and pieces of wood dating back to the 1950s and well beyond. I crept into a tumbledown barn that appeared to have been abandoned thirty years ago. A pair of boots were balanced on a workbench. Tractor tires were propped against walls. An oily green rag hung stiffly across a rafter and a small collection of ferns had sprouted out of the brick floor.
The whole barn complex felt as if it had been ossified in time. It seemed as if I touched anything, the whole structure would crumble into dust.
After tiptoeing around the delicate relics to make some photographs, I crept quietly away.