Nightshoes had farmed the rocky strip of soil above Thorndale Manor since before anyone could remember. Best beans in the county were grown up there – ‘Young’ Joe Nightshoe was famous for his runners.
Last summer a couple of ‘townies‘, as Joe calls them, bought the manor. Fancy dreams of becoming self sufficient and all that – Joe wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t say nothing.
With winter slowly melting into spring, the manor’s windows are again boarded shut; out front a nearly new tractor is carefully being backed onto a waiting flatbed. Up on his strip Joe checks his beans – it was already looking like his best crop yet.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.