Week 3 has been a difficult one. We are in the grip of a heatwave, which is causing some pretty serious drought across Cornwall. I’m delighted that our stream, even though it is more of a trickle than a flow, hasn’t dried up; but many plants and trees, even those with deep roots, are looking dry and wilted. Grass and ferns are dead in many places – even the shady parts of the garden – and my thoughts turn to next year when I hope to have vegetables and fruit growing. How on earth will I keep them alive? Water is expensive here and we do not have – as yet – a system for storing and harvesting rainwater. I’ve been reading this marvellous book, which is giving me some ideas, although mostly it is making me aware of just how much water we Brits tend to waste each day: pouring most of it down the sink and reusing very little.
Meanwhile the heat has wilted me somewhat and I have found it hard to either think or act. At times I’ve felt almost a little depressed, and then guilty for feeling so. How can it be possible to feel low in a place like this, especially when the sun is shining? Partly I’m overwhelmed by the task ahead of us: 2.5 acres of heavily overgrown land, hundreds of metres of crumbling stone walls, a house that demands a great deal of remedial work, a vegetable garden to build from an uneven patch of stony ground, numerous outbuildings crying out for attention, and I haven’t even mentioned the pottery. What seems like a glorious opportunity some weeks just seems like a never-ending list of tasks and bills the next; but I know this see-sawing of emotions is a natural part of the cycle and I must get used to it. Harder to reconcile is the awful cost-of-living crisis which is engulfing us. Again I feel guilty because we have all this space, all this opportunity and at least some budget to cushion us from the suffering so many people are already enduring. Our daughter is visiting us and tells us of trying to find a house to rent “anywhere” in London. Everywhere she tries she either can’t get a viewing, or has to join a queue of 25 other hopefuls and then compete by offering a sealed bid well over the asking price. As a first year student she will be paying “at least” £750 per month on rent and bills; presumably more once the fuel price increases really take hold this winter. I look around this wild paradise and wish I could make it a refuge. Can we become self-sufficient in fuel? Can we avoid what is happening to some homesteaders in Cornwall who are shipping in water from Somerset? Can we grow enough vegetables to stop us having to drive to the supermarket or pay them to drive to us? All questions which seem increasingly urgent.
But then something happens to shake one out of the malaise. Last night I was in the veg garden mooching about wondering what I should do, when I saw my friend Mary walking her dog down the lane. We had a chat and she told me a bit about Enid, who lived here before us, and how the garden got away with her as she got older. I worried aloud about whether Enid would approve of what we were trying to do, and Mary reassured me that she would. Then, in a kind but forthright way, she urged me to “just get on and do some work”. Her practical words of wisdom galvanized me into putting on my work trousers and getting out the tools. Within an hour I’d freed two big trees of ivy, which will increase the evening sunlight on the future veg beds; moved a stack of rubbish away from the side of the shed and (with my helpful step-son), peeled off most of the ivy from the walls of the studio. Next time I fall into a funk, I shall remember Mary’s advice. Until then I shall try to both enjoy the sunshine and anticipate the rain.
bookbusbird 