The coows were causing a stir in the village shouting and hollering for food after they'd eaten the croft bare near enough so, the kind crofter took off with his trusty [sometimes] tractor with a roll of grassy allsorts. The tractor merely needed a little tlc, a kick up the *rse and a bit of string to get going.
The kind crofter and his everso kind Dad got the roll of grassy goodness off the tractor thing and started it off rolling down the slope - like a oversize cheese-rolling contest - only, they were the only ones there and it wasn't cheese. Or the Cotswolds.
The kind crofter chased after the roll but then couldn't, despite his immense strength and guile get the thing on it's end as the coows prefer. So, I got me boots on - along with dearest Eve and we set off to help. I have no snaps of that. We got it the right way and got back too - despite wearing red !
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.