A love letter to the farm
Dear Lodge Farm,
You and I have been through a lot together. When I came here you were three hundred years old and I was twenty-five. Or maybe, in the way of multiple incarnations, we were both ancient in brick and flesh skins. You were tumble down and damp, cramped with linoleum and carpet, avocado green bathrooms and alarms, wisteria tore at your hair. An alleyway of cobbles and moss ran along your back, stones shouldered the hill from crushing you and all your rooms seemed underwater, under earth, dark and musty with the weight of trees and roots. There were broken down buildings gathered…
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