Microwave. Bike. Tyres. Filing cabinet. All sorts of unburnt metal in the burning pile. And tons of torn plastic bags, bottle lids, tags. Bags of some animal food. Food trays, Broken plant pots… How did I not see all this when I first visited the farm?
At the end of the fields, there was an over grown area. It looked like it was left abandoned for a while, and brambles and nettles covered it. After a few weeks, in the middle of the winter, we had to start planning a way to maintain the land, We started clearing, to tidy the fields, check the health and strength of the trees, the state of the hedges. We didn’t know what we would end up doing with it. but sure we wanted well managed land. We wanted maybe pasture, haylage. Definitely not uncontrolled overgrowth of prickly nettles and thorny brambles . So we gathered a few tools and our hands to start it up.
There is this thing when you arrive to the countryside with no privileged background of knowledge, wealth, or social network of any kind, no spare money for machinery or contracting works, that you find yourself doing the dignifying job the same way you did in the park when a kid. Digging the dirt sitting and rubbing with the heels of your shoes on the ground, breaking sticks on your shins, carrying water in mouthfuls (that was the best, in the hot of summer, when your friends made you laugh and you lost you load half way through). No, we did not do the last one. So a digger would have done the job. A farmer neighbour or any other paid hands would have done the job. But this was our place, us new and unknown. It is not a gold mine, an ambition, so there is no rush. It is actually our back garden. And it is a piece of our privacy. And it was ours. So we did it with our hands, and a couple of hand tools. Just what we had. We starting uncovering, and removing the dirt on the surface.
Underneath brambles and old carpet pieces (no, no wool rugs here. definitely synthetic), we discovered an old firepit where all the flammable had gone, leaving a corner of the field hiding in a deep a load of scrap metal. With every piece I took and placed on the trailer, I couldn’t help but wondering how the previous farmer, so patriotic Cornishman, would have wounded his own place with such lack of care for his own land or the surrounding environment.
A trailer load. We took it to the top. Segregated all different materials. Up and down the track a few loads. Three van-fulls to the tip and convincing the guy at the door we are not a business. We recovered a firepit area big enough to build a very decent house.
That was a very much beautiful view and much bigger field. Definitely safer for children and animals. With the pride of achievement on us -and the nicer view of the recovered patch-, we looked at the deep left at the end of the hill, empty of clutter and brambles, and decided that filling that up was going to be another big job not for that moment. We tidied our tools and went to search for the next most needed job in the priority list.
Kestle Alpacas 