After days of incessant January rain, the chicken paddock has turned into a quagmire, ghost ponds have resurfaced and a sheep has come close to drowning. But there’s joy to be found even despite all that, says John Lewis-Stempel.
I cannot remember when it started to rain. I think it was the day before yesterday, but perhaps even the day before that. I do not imagine that it will ever stop. At night, the rain glugs continuously into the drain, which is not unmusical;…
