The old rusted farm equipment surrounded the house predicting its demise.

Whenever I went to stay with my grandparents in their old farmhouse, which was situated at the end of a five mile unpaved driveway, which in turn was off a second rate lane which in turn was off a second rate road which in turn was off the main road in a town which time had forgotten, I would always have to park my Land Rover about half a mile away from the house itself and walk the rest of the distance. Whenever I took people there for the first time, their jaws would drop when I pulled up my Land Rover next the carcass of a cow called Bessie, who had died generations ago but nobody felt it necessary to bury, “let nature do it,” was my grandfather’s answer when asked, and he would continue, “If I had to bury every cow on the farm that died, then we would be nothing but a cemetery and wouldn’t be a farm.”

Yes, there was a logical answer, but unless you wanted to risk having your intelligence assaulted most would smile and whisper, ‘get me out of here.’ As the number of carcasses grew, they were eventually overtaken by old farm equipment that probably didn’t work well when they were first bought at the turn of the century, and were left to rot in the fields, until you were close to the home itself. You would know this for three very good reasons.

The first thing you would notice would be my grandmother standing on the crumbling porch waving her hands in the air. She had been given a heads up by a carrier pigeon they kept just for this reason. “Better than a doorbell,” my grandfather would say when questioned and yes, yet again, you shut up and smiled.

The second was the amount of old rusty farm equipment would grow in volume and thirdly, the few chickens that stayed there, though not against their will, grew in number until you were surrounded by them. My grandmother would give you a welcoming kiss on the forehead and mumble. “Haven’t seen you in ages.” When she says that to you, just smile and answer it’s good to be home even if you’ve never been there before. I am sure this would be the first and last time you’ll ever visit my grandparents. It’s definitely not for the faint hearted. Stepping in chicken droppings and having to wipe the bottom of your shoes on the unmowed grass is not everyone’s idea of paradise. It’s not mine either, but they are my grandparents, and I love them.

“Why don’t you move grandma and grandpa?” I would ask them when I visited them as a child. “It must get very lonely out here.”

My grandmother would’ve up and left many years ago, but my grandfather would hear nothing of it. “Not until I can sell all this farm equipment,” he would say.

You see, back in those days the farm equipment was lined up in rows waiting for buyers or an auctioneer who never showed up. I understand they fell in the cesspool at the edge of the property, which is why we couldn’t drive up to the house. There’s no way around it other than on foot. Well now many decades later the farm equipment is no longer in any condition to be sold and therefore, my grandfather won’t move.

“But grandpa,” I tried logic on him once and only once and still regret to this day, “why don’t you sell it to the Airforce. They could use it for a bombing range because it’s so far away from civilisation.”

“Well,” he answered spitting out the piece of wheat he was chewing on, “that’s a good question,” and that was that. But I still went there and still go there just so I can say hello to my grandmother and then take her shopping to a local drugstore which is a few hours drive away once we got into my Land Rover after successfully negotiating the cesspool. She loved going to the drugstore once every six months. She would receive a warm welcome from the owner Mr Burning. We think his name was actually Brunning, but he changed it for whatever reason which we won’t get into. “Jenny!” he would shout, “how wonderful to see you and what good timing. I just got in a new batch of CBD gummies and yes, these are potent ones. You said the last batch didn’t do anything for you because when you woke up in the morning the earth was still spinning. But let me tell you, I tried these new gummies and so did Althea,” she’s his wife of sorts, “and we both haven’t come down to earth yet.”

“Just what you want,” I told my grandmother who bought a bunch on the spot.

As we drove back to the farm and approached the house, I noticed that my grandmother was smiling. She never smiles. “Did you try one of those gummies, grandma?”

“Oh yes I did and let me tell you they are great. Look at all that rusted farm equipment surrounding the house it looks beautiful, even though it will predict its demise however…” and I heard a splash. My grandmother had fallen into the cesspool.

I ran to get my grandfather who didn’t get excited or upset, “oh she’s done that before. She’ll get out of there in a few minutes. Did she get any gummies because it’s the only way I can stay here otherwise I’ll have to move?” Yes, you are correct, I did the only thing available to me and that was wish my grandpa a goodbye and walk back to my Land Rover. However, on the way there I passed my grandmother who was still grinning from ear to ear but smelling vile.

“Bye David,” she said holding on to the bag of gummies for dear life.