His name was Clint.

 Saturday 4th October 2025

It was barely light as I crossed the yard this morning, picking my way through a scatter of dead twigs, leaves, and the various other things the wind had flung about overnight. It had been a stormy night — the first this autumn, according to the weather people — and the place looked as if it had been tossed in a washing machine.

I stood aside to let Dad trundle past with the tractor and seed drill. He gave me a cheery thumbs-up, so I blew him a kiss for his trouble.

On my way to the cow yards, I chased down a plastic bucket that was rolling around in the still-blustery wind — looking for all the world like it had grown legs but, unfortunately, no head, and more importantly no eyes to steer by. It spun in confused little circles until it bounced off something and set off on another aimless adventure. I decided to spoil its fun and caught it mid-roll, tucking it just inside a shed doorway so it could “rest up” a while.

I’d got up early to give Eric a hand feeding round if he needed one. I found him bedding one of the sheds with the tractor and straw blower. I waited until he’d finished before going over. On seeing me, he jumped down from the cab and came striding across.

“Anything I can do to help?” I asked.

He assured me he had everything under control — then said, “Did that lad find you yesterday?”

I blinked. “What lad?”

“He wouldn’t say what he wanted — just that his name was Clint and that he’d pop back again. Asked when was best to catch you, so I told him sometime before nine or after five.”

“What did he look like?” I asked, though the name meant nothing to me. I’ve never known anyone called Clint.

Eric shrugged. “Similar size and build to me. Fit-looking, but not as smart — needed a shave, for a start.”

Well, given that Eric rates himself as both fit and smart, I didn’t put too much stock in that description. I was no wiser about who Clint was — or why he hadn’t reappeared after five.

Thankfully, the big shed — the one you have to drive into — was empty of cattle. I’ve got a bit of a complex about that place after my first encounter with it. It’s usually just an overflow shed, they tell me, so most of the time it’s full of machinery rather than anything living.

I wandered around for a while, trying to make friends with any of the cows that looked open to the idea, but most were far too absorbed in breakfast to care. After a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, I gave up on finding “Billy No-Mates” and went back to Eric.

“I’m going to start breakfast if you don’t need me,” I told him — more to let him know I was safely out of the way than anything else. It saves him wondering whether I’m still wandering about somewhere, trying out chat-up lines on the cows.

“Would you like us to make you something before you go?” I asked.

“No, it’s okay, thanks. I’ve to get back — the Mrs has a list of jobs as long as my arm waiting for me.” He grinned, then added, “She says that since I’m spending all my time on Sunday with my fancy piece, the least I can do is spend all Saturday running round after her!”

“That’s what you get for being a heart-throb, Eric,” I teased.

“Aye, well, there’s got to be some payback for the hours of fitness training I do — or what’s the point?” he said, rubbing his well-rounded beer belly. I suspect Eric confuses the pub for the gym.

I laughed and left him to it, knowing he’d soon be heading off to his long list of “Mrs-approved” chores.

Since it was only Mum and me for breakfast, I knew she wouldn’t bother with a fry-up. I got everything ready so that when she came down, all she had to do was choose what she fancied. I told her to sit down and I’d fix it for her. She settled on toast and a bowl of porridge — “something to put on my bones,” she said, “given the look of the weather this morning.”

My mystery man never appeared, either before nine or after five, so I’m still none the wiser — and a little uneasy. Perhaps he had the wrong place and has since found the right one.

Still, as the wind dropped away this evening and the smell of woodsmoke drifted in from somewhere down the lane, the yard seemed to settle again — quiet, familiar, and full of that comfortable, end-of-day peace that always finds its way here in the end.