Farmer John

I've been past John's place on countless occasions, seeing him at work on his little farm quite regularly. I've never been of a mind to stop before today. I felt in no rush and seeing him at his fence I just found myself going over to say hello. I'm really glad I did. He's in his eighties and seems to be as fit as a fiddle, both in body and in mind. I found him full of good old common Yorkshire sense. 

I asked if he'd been on the land long, to which he told me he was a travelling man.
'Travelled far?' I asked.
'All the way from that farm over there,' pointing to a place less than half a mile away. 'I've not come too far, have I?' he said, a twinkle in his eye.

He's living within sight of where he was born, growing up in a family of seven kids, with no electricity. It was hard, but he has fond memories of his childhood. I asked him how often he took a bath, with so many of them, and hot water so precious. He said that they never bothered. He's never been able to understand the modern obsession with cleanliness - nor our modern need to eat all the time. I get that one. He suggested that people are never hungry these days and that you have to be hungry in order to properly appreciate the taste of food. He's right. The simplest foods taste incredible when you've been out working hard all day and come back home famished. I love being genuinely, ravenously hungry when I sit down to eat a meal.

His coat is from a postman, traded for some eggs when his postie got a new one. He says it makes the very best outdoor jacket - unless it gets wet. He told me it keeps absorbing water until he's dragged to the ground by the very weight of the thing! 

I need to go back to hear some more stories. It was too cold to hang around long today. He was a little shy when I moved in closer for a portrait.