On the dairy farm we grew up on there was a dumping paddock, covered in volcanic rocks culled from all the other paddocks over a 60-year period. I recall being given 10 days with a small tractor & hoist-mounted platform, instructed to gather all the rocks remaining in an adjacent paddock that was going to be cut for hay later that year. Any remaining rocks & stones would have played merry hell with the baling equipment. All was well, as it happened. This dumping ground was on the side of a hill, exposed to the weather & the vigorous north wind. No owner of the place ever contemplated even building a shed in such a location.
This was driven home (so to speak) to the physiotherapist & the garden designer who bought the property from my parents. They started construction of a rather sumptuous dwelling & terraced garden on the northward-facing side of this hill. Fully exposed to howling winter storms & hot, arid summer winds. Just when the construction had reached frame stage with the roof tiles in place, along came one of those howling storms which added thousands of dollars worth of tile to the volcanic rocks strewn about that paddock.
The new owners have converted the old farmhouse into a bed & breakfast establishment of good repute & now the completed house and grand garden form a magnificent showpiece accentuated by the apparently idyllic rural setting.
The owners have collaborated to produce a book called "The Charmed Garden At Broughton Hall." (The B&B trades under the name of Broughton Lodge.)
One of my brothers has bought the book as a Xmas gift for out mother who's a resident in a Covid-locked aged care facility. We have no idea when she'll be able to have visitors again so she can peruse this intriguing publication.
