Farming Town

You know I love farms. Grew up on one; stays with you. Brother Eric says he learned everything he needed to know on the farm. There's a book there, somewhere.

 Yesterday, at long last, I had a moment before an appointment to take a few photos of one of my favourite farms. Favourite because of its longevity and apparent prosperity. Favourite because of its modernized early farmhouse which makes me think of our Grandma Striker's 'doddy house,' the early house remodelled for her when her son took over the big stone house.

But favourite,especially because of its cheekiness, doing very well thank you in the middle of Bloomfield, that trendy boutique village popular with visitors. For most of the folks enjoying the impressive lineup of eateries and shops, the farm may go unheeded. Except on those days when 'farming' is taking place and the village air is redolent with the scent of manure. Good on ya, Prinzen Farms.

I enjoyed a little wander through the shopping centre of the appealing village, taking a few photos of charming houses. But mostly what appealed to me yesterday was the sight of the farm buildings, or a field or two, just down those lanes between the commercial buildings.

I've done many a walk around Wellington but never through this most familiar of villages, where family once lived, and now reside in the Hicksite cemetery. Note to self: Must return. Lots of lovely urban barns  in Bloomfield.