I could hardly see the cottage because it was in a forest of Norway Spruce trees. Christmas trees, quite literally, planted everywhere by a landlady who didn’t trust tenants to look after the acre of orchard and thought she might make a profit selling the trees. She didn’t get round to cutting them and when I bought the house they were thirty feet tall and two feet apart and everything below them was dark and dead, and the house was dark and damp and dismal.
I know the farm you're on about: it's a prairie!