Hi Ho Hi Ho It's Off to Work We Go

As I drew up to the entrance to my land after fifteen weeks away I was met by two neighbours of mine out walking their dogs. We had got to know each other fairly well last year, they grow quite a variety of veg for their own consumption and have a stall on the weekly Machynlleth market selling homemade crafts, him from slate and wood, her from cloth. It was a warm welcome back, having an impromptu natter with these good folk and catch up on the local gossip.   

When I finally made it down the track it was heartening to find the polytunnel and caravan looking just as I'd left them. The greenhouse had a couple of panes out, presumably blown out by the wind. But when I entered the garden enclosure it was obvious that pheasants had managed to get in. All that remained of my winter veg – beautiful kale, purple sprouting broccoli and cabbage – were the stalks, jutting forlornly out of the beds at regular intervals. There were also pheasant feathers scattered around indicating some kind of feeding frenzy or death match. It transpired that the netting had pulled away from the fence at the far end, allowing the hungry birds access to the finest organic food for miles around. The only consolation for me is the thought that the culprits have been shot, although I have already spied at least three still alive and well. Not for long.

The day was spent getting my caravan up and running again – lowering the four legs, filling the water barrel from the stream, refitting the taps, wiping off the mould where it had accumulated around the kitchenette and generally giving it a spring clean – and unpacking my belongings from the trailer and car. Unfortunately rain had managed to creep under the trailer's tarp making some things damp, but this is where having an empty fifteen metre polytunnel comes in really handy. It's like a giant wardrobe-cum-airing-cupboard.

My leaving hamper

So begins my third season alone on my land. I had had a wonderful send-off from Pilsdon, being presented with a leaving card and a hamper full of goodies (home-baked bread, home-made butter and marmalade and crab apple jelly, etc) decorated with real ivy, moss, daffodils, and little Easter eggs. At breakfast the two American children (aged 4 and 2) each gave me a card that they had made, one of which read “I'm really looking forward for you to come back. I love you. I like playing piano with you. How long are you going to stay there? I wish you well” (which the budding pianist had apparently dictated word for word).  I got to hold baby Rowan for the first time, not yet a week old. Everyone came out to wave me off with tea-towels as I drove out of the courtyard, as is the Pilsdon way. People have been extraordinarily generous and kind to me in all sorts of ways.

The "site notice" pinned to a post outside my land

It is with a heady brew of emotions that I return to Wales, as I will very much miss the community of friends that is my winter home but I am also excited to be getting stuck back into the season that awaits me here, to all the challenges I face (not least where I am to live, as the planning officer won't let me remain long in the caravan). It's the sheer sense of being alive that comes from working for myself in the great outdoors, having to tackle problems with my own ingenuity and bare hands yet more and more relying on others around who are offering help. Let's see how these next few months unfold.