It Feels Like Butterflies In My Stomach

“Millie sit.”  “Good sit.”  Poised on her back haunches, her head drops and ears flatten as she focuses on my every move.  If I twitch a finger, she begins to stand. “No, sit!”  “That’s a good girl.”  I stay still as an old oak, slowly moving my palm out in a stop position towards Millie and give the command,  “Wait.”  Her head tilts.  I say it again before throwing her beloved toy about twenty feet away.  As I begin to turn and take a step in the direction of the lifeless tug toy, she lifts her rear and I quickly must utter  “Eh, Eh, Millie SIT.”  “WAIT!”  I take a deep breath.  “Good wait.”  Millie tightens the coil of her body’s spring.  Moments later, I release her from her wait with an enthusiastic “Okay!”  And off she runs, full pelt towards her toy.

Every day our training regime includes work on sits and waits.  As often as not, Millie does not want to abide by these commands, viewing them as optional.   Naturally, I disagree.  “What’s the point?” our little teenage puppy must be musing.  She is a party girl who is simply on the move and wants to have fun.  She loves to bound across the ground, run through tunnels, jump over obstacles, and return as quickly as possible with her toy for a good game of chase or tug-of-war.

When her toy is not to mouth, she’s happy to follow after and catch leaves, snowballs, or Sam’s tail.  Anything that moves is fair play.  It isn’t possible to sweep the floor or rake leaves without Millie pouncing on the broom or rake. Fortunately, her chase impulse does not apply to birds, rabbits, sheep, horses or cattle.  We don’t know about cats.

As a gentleman dog, Sam is happy in his senior years to have a nice slow walk, preferably without hills, followed by a meal and a snooze by the fire.  Even as a younger dog, he was never one to pursue anything, except cats.  So imagine the surprise to all of us when Millie started spinning and twirling around the kitchen channeling her inner Stevie Nicks singing “Just like a white winged dove” as she followed the latest discovery, a butterfly.  “Ooh Baby, Ooh, said ooh.”

It’s January and cold outside, so what’s this butterfly doing inside?  During this time of year, we daily light the wood burner in the morning and cover the veg beds at night to keep the frost off the plants.  This is not the time of year for a butterfly.  While Small Tortoiseshells can turn up almost anywhere, from city centres to remote wildernesses, they do like it where nettles grow.  We have nettles in abundance, but not in the kitchen.  So hibernating in the barn, the wood pile, or one of the outbuildings makes sense.  But our kitchen?

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It’s too cold to implement our usual catch and release approach which we utilise regularly with moths, bees, butterflies, bats and birds which find their way inside during warmer months.  Sadly, we don’t have any flowering plants inside for this butterfly to find nectar.   It’s lifespan is significantly reduced by choosing our kitchen as its launchpad. To calm and distract Millie, the dogs and I head to sit by the fire while Roger places a small ramekin filled with sugared water and a ball of tissue paper near the window where the butterfly has settled.  The least we can do is feed it while it makes its home inside our house.

Armed with glasses of wine, Roger joins me and the dogs by the fire.  Sam has found a comfortable spot and drifts into a deep sleep, perhaps dreaming of his younger days when his back legs had him jumping over stiles.  But Thoroughly Modern Millie has sneaked out of the room unnoticed until we hear a gentle clinking of ceramic on stone.  Getting up to investigate we find Madam in the window, drinking the homemade nectar.

The Small Tortoiseshell may be one of the most common butterflies in the UK, but it is also the national butterfly of Denmark.  Sure, it is mischievous and disobedient of Millie to be in the window, but more shocking, and perhaps treasonous, is that she ate the butterfly!

Livin’ on the Veg

It isn’t easy gardening in winter, let alone on Dartmoor.  The UK, with its distinct seasons, offers a challenge to keeping a year round vegetable supply.  By late autumn, it feels as if there is nothing left to harvest after the near glut in summer.  Even in spring, as plants are beginning to grow, there are too few things ready to harvest.  We’ve had to learn about what to grow and when, protecting our vegetables, and making use of different vegetable varieties to fill empty spaces in the garden.

So far, the new and improved raised beds, which Roger built this past spring, complete with their chicken wire surround to keep out pesky critters, are working a treat.  We have been feasting the past few months on kale, beets, spinach, winter purslane, radishes, and land cress.  The rainbow chard is beginning to look pickable and our spring cabbages are blossoming out to a respectable size.  Our progress comes as a huge satisfaction.

Growing for winter is truly a year-round job.  It begins in the summer when we must resist being seduced by the bounty of veg we gather at that time, staying focused on the leaner months of autumn and winter to follow.  By October, light levels are low, affecting the speed of germination.  Add in a healthy dose of wind, rain and cold, which begin to dominate the weather forecast, and it is tempting to throw in the trowel.  As is our style, we ignore all the obvious discouraging signs and charge ahead.

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A typical frost covering the plant life on the hillside.

We’ve never had much luck with leeks, and so didn’t bother this year.  But now, I’m regretting having not given leeks, garlic and more onions a spot in our winter beds.  In reading up on these edible alliums, I discover that garlic actually needs a period of cold and so wants, nay begs, to be in the ground and growing well before the arrival of winter.  I will need to make a note for next year in my little black book.

We have a forecast of snow for later today, so Roger has just put on his waterproofs and headed out to cover the beds with horticultural fleece.  Most days this autumn and winter have been easy for us to tend to the garden.  But this week it feels like wind, rain, freezing temperatures, rabbits, slugs, and a host of other challenges are joining hands to welcome us each time we go out to pick some lettuce.  I have half a mind to forego our Five-A-Day.

Roger outside in the rain and sleet protecting the veg beds.

Roger outside in the rain and sleet protecting the veg beds.

Despite all the challenges, lettuce does well through the winter as does spinach, which actually is easier to grow in winter than in summer because it doesn’t go to seed so quickly.  We are always thinking about what to grow and whether or not to bother.  I don’t have any interest in growing peas and beans, they aren’t suited to our location.    Nor, do I have any interest in Brussel Sprouts.   Despite how much I love them, they take up too much space in the garden.

Winter gardening also involves planning for the spring.  While sitting by the fire with the snow coming down, thoughts drift to:  What will we repeat?  What will we try new?  What will we completely abandon?  Two years of aubergines and we aren’t going to bother again.  They grow, they flower, and then nothing.  It’s best to learn from mistakes and build on our successes.  With that in mind, Roger has purchased several fruit bushes which do well in acidic soil.  Where to plant these is yet to be decided, but we will need to get them in the ground soon.  Of course, my make shift bird netting for the blueberry bushes will no longer do, so we are discussing how to go about building a fruit cage which will be easy to access and yet not blow over in some of the strong winds we get in our moorland valley.  Despite this new challenge, which we brought on ourselves, we are both looking forward to growing more fruit.

While the rain hammered down this morning, I was dry inside the greenhouse giving it some attention by tipping out pots with finished plants from the summer, pulling weeds which are making their home inside the greenhouse, watering the strawberry plants, and giving it a good sweep.  In the early spring, we’ll take everything out and clean the glass and give the floor a scrub to rid it of moss and mould, but there’s no point doing this in winter.

With our winter garden, it’s vegementary, really.   It’s all down to the planning.  Typically, we have big gaps form March through May and in the past, November onwards.  Not this year!  We gave some thought to how we were going to rotate our crops in the raised beds and when we needed to plant things out for winter.  Because there are any number of things that can go wrong:  Some leafy crops are prone to bolting; caterpillars seek out and find cabbages; there’s club root, flea beetles, birds, slugs, snails, whitefly, and heavy rains, and strong winds.  It’s apocalyptic!  But the stuff that survives, thrives and provides, delights us.  Really, we just try a few things, see what works and then repeat.

Hey Santa!

Santa Claus (A.K.A., Kris Kringle, Papa Noel, and Father Christmas),  Santa’s Grotto, near Reindeerland,  North Pole,  Somewhere in the middle of the Arctic

Dear Santa Claus,

What a year, eh?  What happened to it?

In all of the hullabaloo, I believe I may have neglected to send you my annual note last year, for which I am terribly sorry.  Rest assured, despite this oversight, Roger and I are thinking of you and hope you, Mrs. Claus, the Elves and all the Reindeer are happy, healthy and ready for your upcoming big night of global gift giving. What a job you have!

While you have been busy getting ready to travel the globe, spreading your usual good cheer (I think you have a rather large task ahead this year), we’ve had our own busy schedule.  Lots of work demands which took me away from Crockern nearly every month.  I did travel to some terrific places like Ireland, the USA, Paris and Brussels, which made it fun.

Lots of friends and family visited us from near and far, which was a treat.  We traveled to Wales and managed several weekends away to visit friends throughout the UK.  We even spent a week on a canal boat winding through the country-side.  Have you ever done anything like that Santa?  I highly recommend it.

When home, we set about our usual projects and a hearty thank you is also in order for helping us with a good year for our garden.  After making needed improvements to the raised beds to keep the rabbits out, we enjoyed a terrific crop of lettuces, potatoes, tomatoes, chard, spinach, kale, cabbages, beets, strawberries, blueberries, rhubarb, asparagus and onions. Even now in the midst of winter, the garden is providing us with winter vegetables. If you wouldn’t mind, could you send our thanks to Mother Nature when you see her at the New Year? The weather this summer was great for the garden and we would love to put in our request for another splendid summer for 2017. Along with the garden, we had so many opportunities for BBQs and evenings in the hot tub.

I don’t have much for “the list” this year.  I could use some time to rest and reflect on this past year and focus on my intentions for 2017.  I am planning to use the holidays for precisely this activity.  For Roger, I’m wondering if we might not consider some head protection.  There was that concussion he suffered while laying a fence this summer.  But, after seeing Roger knock his head more than once on a low door frame or beam in the house, our friend Miriam suggested he could use a “house helmet”.  Old stone farmhouses are not easy places for someone his height and I’m wondering if your elves might have some suggestions.  I know they are short, but I’m guessing they may hit their heads on the underside of a work table from time to time.

The chickens have had a good year and in preparation for the holiday season, are taking several weeks off from egg laying.  The one Roger nursed back to health is happily scratching for worms with her mates as I write this.  All six of our hens have recently finished moulting, so we are anticipating their winter break is soon coming to a close and we’ll be back into having too many eggs.  If that happens when you are flying past, we’ll make you an omelette or a soft boiled egg.

We think you’ll enjoy a few improvements since your last visit.  We finished the floors and walls by the wood-burner, making that room cozy as can be.  We still have to work on the ceiling, but we’re not in a particular rush.  Of course, if you or the elves are looking for a short working holiday, let us know and we’ll move the furniture out of that space and you can help sand the beams.  You’ll like the staircase we refinished and now that the water system is up to date, you may have some thoughts about whether we carry on with the work in the kitchen, finish the office, or start the small bathroom next.

When you arrive please be aware Sam is moving slowly and can’t hear as well these days, so you may need to bend down to give him a little scratch behind the ear.  When you do, be warned that Millie will thrust her chew toy into your hands and insist on a game of tug.  She’s not met any reindeer yet, but likes meeting other dogs.  She’s shown no interest in the Dartmoor ponies, sheep and cattle she’s encountered, so we’re guessing your team of eight reindeer plus Rudolph will be a welcome set of friends.  Warn your team, she does enjoy a good game of chase!

Bit of a non-sequitur Santa, but can you vote?  I received my British citizenship this spring, and with my new dual citizenship, had the right to vote in both the UK referendum and the USA presidential election.   You have such an unusual address, it’s unclear where you cast a vote.  And, does your system of democracy involve electoral colleges?

We are excited for the holiday season. The tree is up, decorated and ready for your arrival.  We hope you’ll have some time to visit when you come to Dartmoor.  With all of its history and adventures, the projects and quirks, the visiting critters and various challenges, the coziness and the beauty, both inside and out, Crockern continues to captivate and enchant us.   As you’ve always told me Santa, with the right attitude, each day can be filled with wonderful adventure and discovery.  Boy oh boy, do we have that here.

Safe travels Santa. I hope the weather will be clear and bright for you as you take your sleigh across Dartmoor.  Maybe there will be one of those super moons to guide you!

With love and warm wishes for a healthy and happy holiday season to you, Mrs. Claus, all the elves and reindeer,

Catherine

Crockern Farm,

Pretty much in the middle of Dartmoor, UK

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A January Snow

After weeks of rain, we awoke one morning to a covering of snow. By my mid-Western standards, it wasn’t a significant amount, but those three inches did a wonderful job of covering up the mud and layering the land with a fluffy white blanket.

We were both awake early and took the opportunity for a walk before the crowds of snow-crazed people arrive to go sledding, build snowmen, and generally leave behind a mess from their enjoyment. For us, the chance to be out first, looking for tracks of foxes, badgers and rabbits is exciting.

We found plenty of rabbit tracks surround the house and garden confirming the need for diligence as we plan our summer vegetable planting. Thankfully, there were no paw-prints from foxes anywhere near our chickens. No signs of badgers either. It seems our electric fencing is working to protect our hens.

Oblivious to any predatory risk, the chickens head out to greet their first snow of the season, clucking a mixture of confusion and delight: “This stuff is pretty and makes my feathers look so fetching but where is the mud and how am I to find worms here?” Or, something like that.

It’s still early and the morning sky emits shades of light suggesting more snow to come. We make our way up the path toward the woods and tors, knowing we are the first to lay our boot-tracks in this snow. Roger has a buoyant gate as if he is expecting something exciting to cross his path. Aromas buried beneath the white, flaky ground cover enchant Sam. And I’m taking a few photos to hold onto this moment where it feels as if Dartmoor is revealing her secrets to us only.

 

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In The Trenches

Sometimes, my body simply can’t move and I am incapable of lifting even my little finger.   Naps call to me when a reviving cup of coffee seems inadequate.  These moments of pure exhaustion usually stem from a day of physically demanding projects.   Lately though, my desire to slouch onto the sofa with a good book and a blanket is the result of enduring the tyranny of relentless rain, hail and wind these past weeks.  I’ve had enough.

In December, a beautiful autumn gave way to weeks of heavy rains and strong winds, taking much of the country hostage.  Floods and economic damage have affected thousands.  For the two of us, the consequences of all this wet weather have been relatively minor.  We have a chimney leak, indicating some flashing which needs attention, our winter vegetable garden is not growing, but it isn’t dying either, and our track is developing a number of pot holes.  The river is torrential and raging.  The yard is saturated making each step a potential slip and fall. The chickens haven’t had a good day out in weeks.  Sam’s walks, when not abbreviated, have tested the limits of our waterproof outerwear.   And my hiking boots leak.  Still, life goes on.

The first morning walk with Sam down the track includes a routine assessment of potholes.  Filling potholes is a regular spring activity and the quicker we stop them becoming craters, the better.   Left to grow,  larger potholes need a packing of bricks, which we hammer down before covering with road planings.  Heading into December, I was feeling smug about how fine the track was looking, even flirting with the idea that spring 2016 might mean a “miss” on track maintenance.   But this winter’s rains have undone our past summer’s efforts.  More than a few potholes have emerged.  Big, bold, deep, and growing each time anyone drives up the track.  With the ground so heavily saturated, the rainwater runs off the hillside and across the track, taking all the gravel with it and giving way not just to potholes, but to a relatively new aspect of Crockern maintenance:  clearing ditches.

As no one expected the war to last as long as it did, the first trenches in WWI were made quickly and often filled with water and subsequently collapsed.  Our trenches — ditches really — are designed to direct the water off the hills and into holes which run under the track.  In the distant past, some wise soul constructed this series of ditches, but years of neglect has left them overgrown, filled with grass, silt and low growing gorse branches.  In some areas, the network of sheep paths has flattened the lip of the ditch letting water run over the ditch’s banks.  With my shovel and clippers to hand, I’ve set about a wet, wintry madness of clearing this overgrowth so the water can resume its historic flow when it rains heavily.

This is not a quick job.  According to the British trench guidelines, it took nearly six hours for 450 men to construct 250 metres of trench.  The layout of the trenches was generally about two metres deep and two metres wide.  Our ditch is about 20 x 20 centimetres.   Considering the smaller size, I suppose it shouldn’t take too long for one woman, one shovel and a pair of garden shears to clear the overgrowth.

But, there are many reasons why this job is not quickly accomplished:

  1. It is futile to dig when it is pouring down with rain or the wind is too blowy.  I fall over more.  My hair is in my face and I can’t see.  I rapidly get fed up.
  2. There are only so many hours in a day the body and mind can do this sort of work.  I suspect prisoners and slaves made to smash rocks or build pyramids would agree.
  3. After about 2 hours, I’m happy to see I’ve accomplished about 30 feet of clearing.   I arch my back and stretch my shoulders only to see the remaining 2,000 feet left to clear.  My heart sinks and it takes time to recover motivation.
  4. Last year when I started this project, I scratched my cornea on a gorse bush.  I close my eyes half the time I’m doing this job now, which does slow things down considerably.
  5. The house is warm and dry.  My book is good.  The sofa is comfy.

While I’ve been outside covered in mud and rain, Roger has made incredible progress on removing the paint from the interior granite stones using a non-toxic paste and a lot of hard graft.  This is no easy undertaking either, as he must first apply the paste, then remove the softened paint with a scraper before using the power washer to get rid of the rest.  This clears the stones of paint while at the same time making a flooded mess inside the house, necessitating an hour or so of cleaning up.

While we toil away on our various projects, the rains continue.  Occasionally there is a brief interlude when thick cloud cover gives way to a watery sunlight.  The powerful winds die back and the birds return to our feeders.  When we eventually have a few days free of rain, the soggy, muddy, squidgy ground will once again find firmness.   For now, we alternate between ditch digging, paint stripping, drying wet clothing, and drying a wet dog before we answer the call of a book, a hot bath, a cold drink, a soft couch and the chance to drift off into a blissful sleep.

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A view from the trench as the clouds give way to a brief moment of blue sky.

Old Man Winter

In the past couple of weeks, we’ve had a few friends visit, but none more wild and disruptive than Old Man Winter. Carried into town on gale force winds from the north, he arrived full of bluster, hail, snow, and disruption. It’s been terrific!

After being blown sideways on walks, the weather finally settled and left a beautiful covering of snow. Not so much to cut us off for any length of time, but enough to change the atmosphere. Snow dampens the ambient sounds, while at the same time lifting the various bird songs to a purer tone. Because of this and the play of morning light, I enjoy getting outside first thing. Sometimes I imagine myself a skilled animal tracker as I follow where the fox has been in the night. From the size of his prints, he is a large chap and no doubt would take all our chickens if given half the chance. We also know the route of our visiting badger, who seems to circle the house, the vegetable beds and bird feeders, and then end up down near the horses. The good news is our electric fence is working a treat, as there are no tracks inside its zappy perimeter.

 

Snow just beyond Wistman's Woods.

Snow just beyond Wistman’s Woods.

 

If only these winter scenes were this simple: to enjoy the landscape and note animal tracks in the snow. But as the day unfolds, this snow invites crowds of people who approach it as if it is some sort of drug. They tried it once and can’t get enough of the fluffy stuff! Hundreds of people from surrounding lower-lying areas, which received rain rather than snow, arrive en-mass to go sledding, build snowmen, and enjoy it all. In their joyful frenzy, they leave behind litter, block our access gate with their cars, and this time, remove stones from the stonewall in order to climb over into the next field. It’s hard to imagine going to their houses and doing the same without invoking genuine rancour.

At such times, it is important to turn our attentions to our house and stop fretting about all of the playground behaviours outside. Given the renovation work we’ve accomplished, the house keeps us feeling snug and dry during these cold winter days. And we still have the downstairs to complete. But, we’ve had a few troubles of late: The Aga went from working okay to not working at all. We have a boiler, so this just means no heat in the kitchen, or the ability to cook or have hot water. In this situation, I enter a state of despair about no coffee in the morning. Ever quick to solve the problem, Roger appears with a camp stove. Hurrah!

Yet it took Roger three days of cleaning filters, bleeding fuel lines, lighting and relighting the Aga, before it finally stayed lit.  We know the problem and are replacing the troublesome bit of pipe in the coming days. Still, we are back in business with hot water and the ability to eat warm food. This just in time as we have friends arriving for the weekend.

As sledders, and snowman builders and photographers and hikers and birdwatchers pass by, we were hoping to rest on our laurels, before turning our attention to finishing the bathroom tiling. Never rest on your laurels is the message of the season because as soon as we did, almost to the second, the boiler decided to go on holiday. As it is only a year old, we hadn’t had any troubles and couldn’t help but think all the problems encountered while fiddling around sorting out the Aga were now manifesting themselves in like fashion with the boiler. A quick read of the owner’s manual and we locate the reset button. Depress it for a few seconds, release it, wait a nail biting second or two and, hey presto, the fan begins to whirl. The red light changes to green and the boiler is back.

 

In the meadow, you can build a snowman......

In the meadow, you can build a snowman……

 

“Roger, we really need to set a deadline and stick with it.” is my haunting refrain. The downstairs remains a close-but-no-cigar project as the devil is in the details, and there are more than a few details. The largest one is finishing the tiling in the bathroom, which has been delayed due to all of the above heating fiascos.

With the house now warm, what’s our excuse? That’s easy; it is nicer to go out, walk the hills and soak in the beauty, even in this seemingly dead of winter. The exposed grass is not simply green, but is accented with colours of gold, brown and red. The sky often seems mostly grey, but there are variations in the clouds and the colours poking from behind of blues and yellows and oranges, depending on the sun.  Lately, there has been a full moon and clear star-filled skies at night reflecting off of the snow. To walk along listening to the sounds of my boot on the frozen ground is one of my simple pleasures. And if I stop and look, I am often greeted with a flock of several dozen Fieldfares flying about the gorse bushes and reeds, or a bird of prey taking a break on a high branch, before pursuing its next meal. Most recently, we spied a pair of Goldcrest feasting on seeds in the pine trees near the barn.

At the end of the day, the snow tourists will eventually return to their cars and make their way home. Those of us who live here will breathe a collective sigh of relief. And when Roger and I sit by the fire, contemplating the tiling to do below, we will be easily tempted and then simply adjust the deadline to some future date.

I see a bad moon rising.

I see a bad moon rising.

More fabulous skies!

More fabulous skies!

Elementary, My Dear Plato

The day started like any other. Sam decided it was time for me to wake up and began to nudge my head and lick my nose until I stirred. I dressed and we set out for our customary break of day walk. On each these walks, Sam and I will take in the weather, smell the air, look to see the sun rise, listen to bird song and generally marvel at nature, returning to put out the feeders, bring in firewood and let the chickens out before heading back inside. Once inside, I’ll feed Sam, make coffee, turn on Radio 4 and make plans for the day.

It’s basic, reduced down to the bare essentials, and is often the time of the day when I have the clearest thoughts and ideas.

I wonder, did the ancient Greeks start their days with similar routines? Was it such a basic start to the day that gave rise to the inspiration of the four elements? I can’t help but wonder this, because at the end of this day-like-any-other-start-of-the-day, I got a dose of the four elements.

Around 450 BC, the ancient Greeks surmised that all matter was comprised of earth, water, air, fire or some combination. While these theories aren’t in play in modern science, they still contribute to our notion of the states of matter: solid (earth), liquid (water), gas (air) and plasma (fire).

 

Earth

We’ve had recent rains, but on the morning of my four elements discovery, the clouds had lifted and the temperature mild for the time of year. It seemed a good day to address the garden. It might only be January, but early spring is always a mad scramble and it is easier to get a start on things when and where we can.

For a few hours I pulled weeds, cleared spent plants, and harvested produce for dinner. I applied some of our compost onto the garden beds in preparation of our spring planting. To avoid loosing nutrients in the soil, I covered the newly topped and empty beds with cardboard which will break down, meanwhile, the compost underneath will settle into the beds, invite worms, and not get washed away with any of the winter rains.

Just as my work in the vegetable garden was nearing completion, the rain returned, prompting me to run inside and put on my waterproofs.

 

Water

During the past few weeks, wet and wintry weather has been the norm making the long sunny days of our glorious summer and autumn a distant memory. But water is something we have already in abundance on Dartmoor.   There are over 130 miles of rivers, and this does not include all the miles of leats and streams. There is a river by our house and it, like so many others, responds almost instantaneously to rainfall, growing faster, wider and wilder as ground saturation increases.

Because of how wet it can be here, when it rains for days on end, it is essential to regularly clear the drains around the house of silt, leaves, mud, and stones. This keeps the water away from the house as it streams off the moors. Since it is now raining and the water is running off the hillside, I grab a shovel and bucket and begin to clear our channels.  An easy enough task, but one that left me covered head to toe in mud!

 

Air

The rain had returned, so too the wind, and everything was being pulled and shoved to its bidding. Earlier when I had been in the garden, I observed a Kestrel (also aptly known as windhover) working the valley, making use of a gentle breeze to hunt its prey. But the wind and weather on Dartmoor can change like a rip tide at the oceans edge. It is now blowing hard through the forest on the opposite hillside, and howling eerily down the river valley. A quick look and all birds seemed to have headed for shelter, including our chickens.

When I’m dressed for it – or otherwise snuggled in bed under a nice duvet – I enjoy the winds that have helped to carve this landscape. Exposed trees are bent over, sometimes nearly folded in half, yielding to the prevailing southwesterly winds.   Who needs a compass?

As the wind whips up a storm, I secure the gates, check on the chickens, put away my garden tools, and hurry to finish a few more outdoor tasks.

 

Elements Combined

Much of the landscape surrounding Crockern was given shape by the powerful forces of wind and water working solo or in tandem over the centuries, moving large amounts of dirt, grit, and rock to tear down and build anew. I take up my shovel and Sam joins me as we make our way down the track to inspect how it is holding up: Any new potholes? Litter left behind from visitors? Any downed branches or missing stones in the walls? In the short time it takes me to do this, the air temperature drops significantly. The North wind packs a visceral bite and it is a challenge to walk back toward the house. Poor Sam is being blown sideways. And, the rain has been transformed into mean, hard, little pellets of ice smacking me in the face.

Hail, Fire and Brimstone!!!

 

Fire

After a tough morning battling with earth, wind, and water in their various manifestations.   I change out of my wet and muddy clothing while Roger lights the woodburner so I might warm my bones.   I cosy up into my favourite chair, my loyal dog Sam by my feet (not really, he’s taken the other chair, leaving Roger no where to sit), and I let the heat and light from the fire hypnotize me. As the storm rages outside, my mind drifts and jumps randomly:

  • If the Earth’s equatorial circumference is greater than its polar circumference, how does this shape compare to some of the eggs our chickens lay?
  • How can an inch of rain be equivalent to 15 inches of dry, powdery snow? Is this true?
  • Should we try to grow pumpkins this year?
  • My waterproof trousers have a leak in the knees and the previous repair is no longer working. It’s time to replace them.
  • Just how does Phillip Bailey from Earth, Wind and Fire hit those high falsetto notes in the song, September?
Here we are.  Two wet, wind blown and muddy souls.

Here we are. Two wet, wind blown and muddy souls.