Just another growth ring

As we approach the spring I realise it was a year ago, almost to the day, that we purchased the Smithy field and symbolically made that cut through the hedge. Its also been a year since the Corona Virus pandemic took hold and shook the world. Amidst this sometimes surreal and turbulent backdrop, I have been steadily cracking on with my plans to set up a market garden and change my future, and the most recent development has been the arrival of 16 tonnes of compost. Its certainly been an unusual year for us but, for the unperturbed old oak trees that survey the site, its just another year.

12 months, almost to the day, we purchased the Smithy field and I have spent the last year slowly developing the plot into my passport to self-employment. At times I have wondered if that symbolic act of walking through the hedge for the first time last March (see Finally through the hedge), in fact took me into another dimension, where I have remained bedazzled ever since. Its been a dimension full of challenge, but most of all full of wonder and opportunity. However, its also been the year of the Corona Virus pandemic, and this significant global event has also played a part in shaping the last 12 months. Although we have been fortunate enough to escape the extreme impacts, one implication has been how the lock-downs have emphasised our sudden rural isolation, and at times created a sense of eerie disconnect from the world. Schooling ceased, work as we knew it abruptly changed, and normal interactions with friends and family were put on hold - and time seemed to stand still. Although these events are profound, I can't help thinking that, for the 300 year old oaks that command the hill at the top of the smithy field, the last 12 months have now become just another indistinguishable and insignificant growth ring in their epic life. For them, this year was the same as last year, and the year before that, just seasons coming and going in a predictable but beautiful and reassuring rhythm. One thing the last 12 months has taught me to respect more than ever is the timeless permanence of this Landscape and how it grounds you in context, and I think this realisation helps you calibrate adversity.

What those oaks definitely won't have missed is the blood, sweat and tears I have put into shaping the permanent beds over the past 5 days. Last week 16 tones of compost were tipped onto our driveway, and I have spent every ounce of energy ever since trying to encourage it up the hill onto the field. My previous attempt to shift compost was on a much smaller scale, and during dry weather with more forgiving terrain. However, the deluge of rain that has accompanied February has made this a very different proposition. My first strategy was to hire a tracked mini dumper, in the belief its tracked wheels would navigate the sodden terrain with ease. Its slim proportions also had the added bonus of being able to enter the field through the garden gates, which is a much more direct route – so I thought. After an hour of its tracks digging up the garden and destroying my recently slabbed path, I gave up on this. The final straw came when it almost tipped up and flattened me with its weighty chassis, and I realised my future here may end up being as a plaque on one of our apple trees. Then it was over to farmer Kev, and his trusted tractor - but even this dangerously slipped and sided on the boggy soil. Finally, we opted for a powerful Can-Am “mule”, something Kev arranged through his long time friend and farming machinery dealer Phil, although acquiring this involved a large trailer, £120, and a 1 hour round trip to Llanymynech. By this point I had assumed the role of a useless city boy that had gotten in over his head and happily left it to Kev to drive his powerful truck to pick up a Trailer and then load up the mule. On route, Kev sorted the insurance for me via his broker as he raced through the country lanes, and I sat coolly in the passenger seat with my whitening knuckles the only evidence of my firm grip and inner agitation. On arrival we were shown the mule that, to me, looked like a ginormous remote-controlled buggy. I nodded to confirm my approval, as I paced up and down the machine checking its components and stroking the bodywork, as Phil and Kev looked on oblivious to the fact I had no idea what I was looking at. Eager to get home to make use of the dying light and start shifting the compost that had now lay idle all day, my plans were thwarted by an invitation from the owner for us to join him for a drink. Before my brain could concoct an acceptable sounding excuse, I was holding a pint of Thatcher's Gold, pulled from a secret makeshift bar in the site office. As Kev and Phil talked quad bikes and engines, and reminisced about old times, I gazed at the setting sun as the alcohol filled my cheeks thinking, not for the first time, “Tom, what do you get yourself into”.

Anyway, once back at the Smithy, things ramped up a gear the following day, and the mule was worth every bit of its 2 day hire cost, the lost time and the hangover. I had roped my father-in-law and nephew in to help me for a few days, and the extra hands were invaluable. It was tough going, but we slowly chipped away at the mound of black soil and, as we distributed it amongst the specially constructed raised beds, I could see the market garden dream becoming a reality. With the stress now slowly evaporating, I even gave into the kids demands for a ride..... a SLOW ride down the hill.

The next date in the diary involves the delivery of 4000 fruit bushes on the 6th April. Between now and then I need to finish the permanent beds, complete the fencing to keep the sheep out, set up the irrigation system and make the final raised beds for the blueberries.