We worked through yesterday with difficulty, it has to be said.
The storm threw small pieces of trees on the ground, the rain fell horizontally and stung eyes, the wind stole conversation from our mouths and turned them into Munch screams. The thick mud on the farmyard reappeared and made walking look like we had all slipped thorazine in our tea and our legs had been sedated as a result. Concrete welly weather.
The ground became too wet to take the weight of the tractors, the digger sulked in a broken digger way, PieDog ran off for no apparent reason.
I wondered what else would go into the broth of It Is All Going Pete Tong then I ripped my best working trousers on a sharp piece of metal.
Leg was showing.
Wind found leg.
PieDog came back.
We found alternative jobs inside the big shed and continued under the shelter only a large tin roof can offer.
Munch screams turned to wild gesticulations as tractors were dodged, dung coloured duffle coats blended in to the environment so well that they were mistaken as camouflage and suffered a few close shaves.
It is hard to make a "Look I Am Getting Angry Now" gesture at a big muddy tractor when you have become as one with the dung. An amorphous blob of beige and straw. There is no point, you just have to get out of the way.
My farm work stopped when I went to collect our little boy from nursery. He was tired after playing, needed food and a cuddle and a chance to wind down. Me too.
Rosie had given him her old suitcase and it became a wonderland to his vivid imagination. He was a pirate and this was his boat, I was relegated the role of 'sea monster', he was a train driver and I had to be the passenger sitting behind him, it became the 'Krusty Krab' restaurant where SpongeBob SquarePants works and we dined with eloquence. 'Squidward' brought pudding.
Afterwards, our son began neatly folding his clothes and packing the little suitcase. He packed pyjamas, a warm top and the snake belt to keep his trousers up. He added a pair of trousers and a clean vest. His tractor and bales went in last.
"I can't find matching socks but it is ok because they are just for wellies'. The family motto.
"Where are you going?" I asked him. "Are we going to Paris on the Orient Express or to Skye by the Glenelg Ferry instead of the bridge?"
"No" he replied. I'm off to the farm"
"Why? It is pretty wild outside"
"I am going because I want to" he said. "I am going to help Dad".
Wise boy. Wise choice.
He saw beyond the storm.