When Clint bought our previous place it was rather wild and woolly. A bit like us really. Our back lane was like a tunnel it was that overgrown, there were trees everywhere and there was a garden. Peter the Weatherman had two tunnels full of leylandii and the ones he hadn't sold were rooting into the ground. It didn't take Clint long to begin clearing up. He cleared the lane and cut the hedges. Some hedges he pulled out and he felled many trees. He rooted up all the flower beds and replaced them with geese, sheds and flattened goose-shitty grass. He knocked down stone walls and old houses and built a big agricultural shed. Well. It was his place. He could do what he liked. Except all that vegetation actually provided much-needed shelter.
As a consequence Monday's stormy weather hit him hard. Bert went down to check how his livestock were doing and came across a scene that was close to carnage. There were young trees down and two of his wooden sheds had left their moorings and had blown away. One was in 'juggins' and another had rolled and broken through a wire fence and was standing on its roof. An ornamental holly tree had broken its fall. This was the shed that held 35 baby chicks and goslings and Bert just got to them in time. He gave me a call to help him and while he sifted through six inches of litter I carried the birds away in buckets to a safer place. They were all saved and how I do not know.
Yesterday Martha and I took a dander down the road to see how the little birds were doing.
First we had a look round the place to see the smashed trees. Martha said, "Broke'"
Then we checked the baby birds. Martha liked them very much. She said, "Nice."
We'll go back to see them next week. And they will be much bigger. There is a country saying,
...growing like a gosling.