That’s what they did. Richie had fenced off the saplings, and they climbed through the wire and stood in the long, dry grass with the two lines of poplars, not much more than triple-post high, stretching out along the road frontage. ‘I’ve been carting water to give them a start,’ said Richie. Pearly knew that as his brother stood there, he saw not just what existed, but the tall, skyward-reaching trees that would be there in thirty years, leaves softly green in spring, and trembling yellow and gold in the autumn breeze. That’s how it is with true farmers — they foresee the long arc of improvement and husbandry rather than the span of their own possession. Pearly felt an admiration for his brother that was tinged with his own dissatisfaction, even envy perhaps. ‘You’re doing a good job with the place,’ he said. ‘You’re more onto it somehow than Dad was.’

‘He loved mucking around with machines and equipment more than anything. He was interested in crops more than stock, and that doesn’t really suit the property.’

‘Matt’s a lucky guy coming back to it all.’

‘He’ll bring new ideas and that’s good. Farming’s more and more technical now. The Wrightson guy’s been on at me about getting some genetic testing set-up that’s a boffin’s dream and a nightmare for me. Jesus.’ As they talked, Richie moved along the strip, checking on the poplars, running his hand down the stems, crushing grass back from the smallest ones. ‘I’ve told Matt he’ll have to gradually buy Frances out of her share, though,’ he said. ‘She’s entitled to it. You know Natalie got bugger all from her parents’ place.’

‘Well, the daughters then were expected to marry some other cocky with a property,’ said Pearly. ‘It’s changing, though.’ He could’ve said that he thought Richie himself had been given a pretty easy run to ownership of the farm, but all that was in the past, and he walked with his brother in friendship over the ground of their common boyhood and felt the sun, the refreshing movement of a breeze, the dry roughness of the cocksfoot grass in his hand, saw the familiar sweeps and ridges that were unchanging shapes, no matter what season clothed them. He and Richie both had a son and daughter; pigeon pairs their mother called them, although he could never see the reason for the phrase. Richie’s son was to return to the farm; Kevin showed no interest in Pearly’s real estate business, not a lot in Pearly himself. Leanne was different, close to both her parents emotionally, though living far away in Wales.

‘What’s your plan when Matt marries?’ Pearly asked.