It must have been an elemental kind of life: exposed to the wind, rain, winter and rough weather with none of the usual creature comforts to fall back on. There were times when the field turned into a sea of mud. The cattle would set their hoofs into the wet earth and create little depressions, craters that filled with greenish water. They had their favourite places where they liked to gather. Mostly it was on or around the main path that crossed the spine of the field: the path that had to be used to reach the caravan. Where the cattle didn’t go, the grass was very long and water-logged. Twice a day, he slipped his way across this field, the mud clinging to the soles and uppers of his boots, flicking up to land in spurts and spots on the legs of his jeans.