On this grey winter's day, for these ten minutes, in the old farm-yard; I sense his imprint.
I see how he solves problems, how he sets up his work, his personal history. How each tool is a prop in the daily routines that unfold here. I admire his handiwork, his craft.
And you won't have to teach him how to recycle or why. Every single rusty nail has a purpose. Every piece of rope and twine is waiting to be tied into position.
And all is in order, to hand, filed to perfection. A rook is feeding on the compost and the cattle are housed away in their steamy cafeteria.
It is as if small and hidden parts of his life are on open display to all who pass, and yet he keeps himself to himself, remaining elusive.
Also browse a very different 10 minutes spent in Bruxelles Nord
