See this field? It looks fairly innocuous doesn’t it, just another, flattish field, in front of an old, abandoned farmhouse.
Anyone can see that the hay just needs a quick run through the baler and then the farmer can head home for a lunch that has been lovingly cooked by an adoring wife.
Or he can head home and be waylaid by a neighbour and invited in for a crafty aperitif. Except that in this particular field, the glass of pastis might have to wait a bit longer.
And whoever said that the camera never lies has obviously never taken a photo of a field in the French Alps. Lets take a look from another angle shall we?
The man with the pitchfork, risking life and limb at the back of the baler is my father-in-law. He has been pulled out of retirement to stop delinquent hay bales from making a bid for freedom, down a steep slope to the bottom of the valley. Or at the very least to the bottom of the nearest ditch. Because once those babies are on a roll, there ain’t no stopping ’em.
Lucky he’s there really because I’ve never quite mastered a pitchfork.
On the other hand, I do know where that neighbour lives and as I’ve been hanging around a field all morning, I haven’t been able to make lunch.
Looks like we might have time for a leisurely aperitif on the way back after all.