Farm country looks pretty, doesn’t it? The patchwork of farmers’ fields reminds me of a quilt when I see it from a distance.
My partner and I spent the day in farm country yesterday, visiting some friends. As we were driving there, my partner asked if I might like to live in that part of the world some day.
Well, I told her, I prefer the mountains and lake life, but I would choose farm country over the city any day . . . Then again, as we were driving home last night, I reconsidered that statement.
Because our friends live near a pig farm. Not that I have anything against pigs, but my nose may never recover from the farm’s particular odours the wind brought our way while we were visiting our friends.
In short: It stank. It was awful. And it’s an odour that seems to have permeated my nostrils, because I can still smell it today, even though I am almost 100 kilometres away from the scene of the grime. Yuck!
I don’t think I could ever get used to that smell.
No way I could live there . . .