I've Got That Sinking Feeling

It isn't every Monday morning that a six tonne dumper truck appears on your doorstep with a load of sawn wood ready to be deposited on your command. It was the first delivery of my larch that the council had asked my permission to fell so they could improve the road barrier. I had been expecting the foreman to come down to discuss where to put it first, but here was a young chap ready to tip the orangey-brown sawnwood right now.

Now my land is beautiful but flawed. One of its flaws is its  bogginess and in particular the patch of swamp just to the right of the parking area. Another is the nature of the access track, being narrow, muddy and very steep slope down.  The truck driver had managed to negotiate the track, at least.  There isn't much room by the parking area for lots of wood but he put the first load there, up an incline. The only other possibilities were a) on the left, down past my polytunnel and caravan to an open area, and b) on the right, through the bog to a clear dry section. I had been advised by the council chap that a dumper truck would make a real mess of the ground so was not keen on option (a), as this is where I spend most of my time. So I suggested (b).

He was all for just driving straight through it but I suggested we check it out first. We stomped around in our wellies, it seemed mostly shallow with one or two deep bits. I asked him what would happen if the truck got stuck. “Good question” he mused. Nevertheless he was prepared to try it. I assumed he, as the dumper truck professional, would have a better idea than me what it was capable of driving through. Unfortunately this confidence turned out to be misplaced as he immediately became mired in the thick black gloop, unable to go forwards or back. There it remained until Tuesday morning when a big tractor appeared driven by an angry man who turned out to be the owner of the dumper truck company.  It failed to pull out the recalcitrant vehicle after many attempts. Later in the day an excavator rumbled down my track and effectively dug the machine out, first the front wheels then the back. “I'll be getting my P45” remarked the young driver.

Hazel catkins

I thought that would be it for bringing wood onto my land but the driver still seemed keen. So I suggested option (a) which at first seemed to go well. The wood was safely tipped onto a big tarp I placed by the caravan in readiness, and the tracks it left in the ground were not too deep. But when he tried to drive up the track and out, a few metres up the huge yellow contraption began to slip off the track sideways. There was a real possibility it could overturn. He extremely cautiously eased it backwards down the steep bank to the side of the track towards the bog, and after the tree surgeon had popped down to fell three young birch that were in the way, he managed to maneouvre it back onto the parking area. When I left this morning to come to Machynlleth to post this blog, it was still there, awaiting something bigger to pull it out of my land.

A tree has fallen into my river over the winter

And finally... I have found somewhere to live! My neighbours a mile up the lane, Stan and Vera*, made the kind offer of the use of their outhouse in exchange for occasional labour. It has mains electricity and electric storage heaters, two rooms, four walls,  two windows and a roof. What it currently lacks is any cooking or washing facilities, or a toilet. The intention is to install a gas cooker of some kind, and a sink plumbed into an external cold tap and to a drain, and possibly a wood burning stove. I'll be moving in before all this is done, but at least I can continue to prepare meals down in my caravan for the time being. This should keep the planning officer at bay!

The early rhubarb forces its way into the open

I've spread the horse muck onto most of the beds that need it

* names changed as usual