With A Little Help From My Friends

Living alone below a Welsh mountain, as I now do, has its pluses and minuses. Some of the huge pluses are, in no particular order: being able to do what I want when I want for as long as I feel like; waking up each morning surrounded by an idyll of natural beauty, an opera of birdsong and the constant rush of the river below; having the space to just be me; the healthy physical exertion of labouring on the land; noticing buds all around form different kinds of leaves and flowers; listening to the woodpecker drill, owl hoot and blackbird free-form jazz improv; and savouring the otherworldly feeling of living without any media input - no TV, internet or even radio (there's no reception). I get to read J.B.Priestley instead.

On the flip side, well, I have to say the drawbacks are so far vastly outweighed by the plus-sides, but it's early days yet. There are a few negatives, however, such as: having to do my clothes washing by hand in a bucket; constantly battling to keep the caravan clean from mud; showers in a tiny space that last no more than a minute before the hot water runs out; banging my head on something several times a day; forever taking my wellies on and off as I forget things I need within the caravan; the whole place turning into a mire when it rains; and the almost-daily fetching buckets of water from the stream to fill the caravan's "water-hog" which is beginning to lose its romanticism.

Boredom and loneliness, those terrible twins, are not getting a look in. Each day gets filled up, not that I'm doing a million things but everything I do does take quite a time. For instance if I need to get on the internet for some reason (such as posting this very blog for your delectation) I either cycle a mile to the Brigand's Inn and buy an expensive coffee to be allowed to use their WiFi, or I carry on another few miles south along the River Dovey till I get to an area with mobile internet coverage (but no rainproof coverage). Not quite the always-connected experience I had grown accustomed to in London. 

I have begun to make friends this week, you may be startled to learn, and I don't just mean with the local population of songbirds. On Wednesday I drove my trusty Jimny northwest over a high mountain pass, down past the squat slate town of Dolgellau and up into a vast forest beyond, in the middle of which live Chris Dixon* with his wife Lynn. They've been living there, off grid, since the 80's which knocks my two-and-a-half-weeks into a cocked hat. Full of friendly advice and permaculture wisdom, they made me feel very welcome, showing me round their plot which has changed beyond recognition from the sheep field it once was, and saying they will visit me sometime in the summer. I came away with a book on permaculture and seven fresh eggs. 

Yesterday I set off in the opposite direction and twenty-four miles later (this is what counts as next-door-but-one in these parts) arrived in Caersws where Malcolm Carroll lives with his family. A connection through Greenpeace, despite knowing nothing about me he and his wife gave me a warm welcome and we got chatting about perennial vegetables and what sorts of things Greenpeace might do in the area. This time I returned with six bagfulls of year-old pig manure that they said they were glad to be rid of, just because I happened to enquire where I might get hold of some compost for my seed potatoes. 

So on top of all this socialising I've now got all the potatoes in, some in triple-dug soil and others in no-dug soil, as an experiment. I've been getting quotes from ecologists for a Phase 1 Habitat Survey, partly as a prerequisite for any future planning application and partly to discover what manner of beast and plant actually lives here with me. I have sent off a sample of the soil from the eastern field to a lab in Lincolnshire for analysis to discover its pH value and levels of those useful chemicals potassium, phosphorous and magnesium. I have attacked and cleared some of the brambles that were threatening to overtake three Norway Firs. I have roamed the local footpaths, checking out the visibility of my caravan from various angles. I think I deserve a break this weekend - it's the Machynlleth Comedy Festival and I'm going to try to get a ticket to see Mark Thomas whose book "As Used On The Famous Nelson Mandela" I've just read. It's all happening here in mid-Wales.

*Real names used this week for a change.