Author: davidwarland

Here’s a desktop picture for you. You can see mixed woodland at the bottom, hazel (denser) above that, oak coppice to the left and mixed woodland in the upper right. 1,500 in the ground at that point; 2,000 today. The plantings left of the farm are now connected by ash and sweet chestnut coppices. More ash and oak coppices and then mixed woodland will reach across to the right-hand trees next month. You can also see the forest garden area running clockwise around the farm buildings from the wall in front to the small, white building behind. We’ve engaged with Incredible Edible Todmorden about that and they’re very keen to help with the design. I hope we collect a few enthusiasts along the way to tend and harvest it.

We’ve both suffered strains from lifting too many boxes and lumping fence posts about. Mine, aggravated old wounds, are better thanks to a magic anti-inflammatory drug; Monica’s shoulder is a new whack that needs rest.

Thursday night was spent at Monica’s sister’s in Swindon while we waited for some plaster to dry in Bristol. Had to whizz down there to re-hang a cooker hood. We’re still delighted by the feel and look of Bristol on a sunny day.

I have arranged for the Wadkin table saw to arrive next week because the shed is, believe it or not, clear of crap and ready to go to work. A few shelves and a couple of benches and we’ll be in business. I’ll send pictures soon. Monica bought a nice old lawn-mower from a cabinetmaker near Hull. His workshop was almost identical in size and set-up to mine, which was very encouraging. The lawn-mower is fun, too; the first we’ve ever owned. It feels rather proprietorial, puttering about outside, bending the grass to my will. Still, when that lower field realises it’s no longer being grazed, I’m sure I’ll get my come-uppance.

Not everything is rosy, though. The sewer to the septic tank objects to the load imposed by the tree-planters so the drain man will have to visit tomorrow. Pooh.

The warm weather brought out the crowds today. After a busy morning, we set off for a pub lunch at “t’Weaver’s Riviera”, Hollingworth Lake. The place was heaving with people like a beach in summer. Locals smirk when mentioning it but the crowds were certainly about today. Over five hundred car spaces and all the roads nearby were jammed as people of all flavours headed for the beach, slot machines and chip shop. Who’d have thunk. We headed for the off-licence and home. Much nicer to sit in our own garden with a cold beer, watching the barges and bicycles cruise past.

It’s odd how a bit of sun and drier soil underfoot make us want to get outside. I’m jealous that plants down south are already showing leaf: we’re a week or two behind. Still, there’ll soon be enough new leaf at Warland to boggle the mind.

We still have good soil moisture but there have been grass fires. Have to think about fire-breaks for the trees.

Got nothing done today: an early visitor used up the morning; went to ‘The Weaver’s Riviera’* for lunch but it was full; bought and sank a few beers in our own sunny garden; spotted the sewer overflowing and had to try to rod that clear; mowed the pig-sty lawn and that was the day. There was a bonus, though: the Trees guys turned up with hundreds of spare ash trees from another planting, so we’ll get a better density of coppicing.

Decided to use rowan trees to mark the corners where our fence is well inside the boundary. Rowan can help plant some!

Got the telly working on the iMac but, as I suspected, there’s nothing on. I think iPlayer and 4oD have everything we need but I suppose the goggle-box has a soporific benefit. Glad to say the TV signal strength and quality are much higher than we had in suburban Adelaide.

This week, we collect an eBay bookcase and chainsaw, help Monica’s Daddy get to a specialist’s appointment, plant some trees, tutor a niece, build some shed-shelves, get the drain cleared, set up a music system, process some cut logs and brash, drink more beer.

The clocks have just changed, so it isn’t as early as it feels but it’ll be a while until Monica shakes a leg. Bandit gets me up at dawn; why, I don’t know. This morning we stood outside in the fog before she went in to sleep in the kitchen, leaving me awake and bored!

Later, the fog will burn off and the day will be hot (21°!) and hazy. I might even need to find shorts to work in. The South East is in a drought but we’ve still plenty of moisture in the soil and the spring keeps flowing. The lawn grass is coming out of the ground at a hundred mph so mowing is my new favourite pastime though, soon, it’ll feel a bit odd. That’s because we got the fence finished and there are no cattle grazing the lower field so it’ll be waist-deep in meadow grass while I’m torturing the little patch up here at the top. Neighbour Doris said that when the animals were last kept off, during a disease outbreak, all sorts of flowers appeared in the field. That would be nice.

The fence also defends the trees from nibblers. There are about 2,000 planted, of 14,000 planned. The photo is from the opposite hill, a week ago. Treesponsibility hope to have them all in by the end of April, covering everything between the corners already planted. Then we just have to patrol the hill to check for breaches and to keep the paths open while the undergrowth goes wild (literally). After a few years, the leaf canopy will close and the colonising plants—brambles, bracken etc—will die back but it’ll be a very different place, very soon.

In the lower field, we hope to create a park-like feel so, in addition to the meadow-grass, we’ve been asking the neighbours to vote for their favourite trees to dot around, picturesquely. Soon, I’ll dig a test hole to see whether a pond down there will hold water.

Monica and I are pretty good but both nursing strains from lifting too many boxes and carrying too many fence poles. Naproxen seems to be a magic drug for my ailments but it hasn’t helped Monica. The last few boxes and bits went up into the barn loft yesterday, leaving the house sorted and habitable for the first time in a month, plus the workshop is coming into operation now that I know where all my tools are. Next job is to build some shelves in the shed for the sports equipment and then we’ll really be ready to get stuck into some projects.

There’s no sign of the fog lifting yet but, when it does, I’m going to wear Bandit out on the morning patrol in revenge for this early start.

I just got some magic pills—Naproxen—for tendonitis in my groin and a gouty toe; one in each leg. After all the box-lifting of the moving in and carrying fence-posts up the hill, I was in a sorry state but now the pain is far, far away and I can keep on with the projects.

Today, I’ll put some shelves up to hold all the sports gear, giving me room to put the bikes back together. I’ve decided that The Split, my yellow commuting bike, is surplus to requirements here so I’ll put cross-country tyres on it for the summer.

Now my legs are better, and the weather is improving, I feel like riding out to see the valleys around us. Wish me luck!

The farm is rapidly changing as Treesponsibility sporadically plant up the paddocks. From the little, green canal bridge up to the farm there’s now a small oak wood; above that, a hazel coppice; out to the north, the start of an oak coppice; and at the very top of the hill, the start of the large oak wood. They’re confident that the whole place will be planted up by the end of April. I overheard one of the core team, up at the high planting area, exclaim that this is definitely the most scenic site they’ve planted in all their fourteen years. How kind. All of their volunteers have been happy to work here, even though it’s a steepish site, because the views change rapidly as you climb or contour about the hillside.

I’ve been closely involved in the planting, from marking out the coppices and paths to actually sticking the saplings into the turf. The hessian mulch-mats are visible from miles away, so an added bonus is that I can now identify specific locations on the farm in much greater detail than I could just a fortnight ago. Using planting canes and blue wool, I’ve also marked up a path that zigs and zags easily up to the top meadow, passing the small places of interest that we’ve discovered (the fox’s lair, the Stone-Age campsite) and revealing the views dramatically around bends and bluffs. Now that the land is drier, it’s more accessible. The SA campsite has been in use recently, by the Scouts; it’s well-sheltered, out of sight and has a wonderful view South along the valley. Somewhere for us to spend a night in a tent?

This is all happening rather quickly and has distracted us from our unpacking, though, just today, we seem to be over the hump with that. It hasn’t all been plain sailing. We both feel overwhelmed much of the time; the Warland project is so complex that we can’t be as in control as we’re used to. Monica had a bit of a melt-down yesterday when a driving licence’s expiry dominoed into a bunch of tasks she was trying to line up. Ralph poked his pick-up into the yard on Sunday but soon retreated when he saw how busy we were, answering questions from three dozen planters during their lunch break. So much is happening, in fact, that I’d bore you with just the summary. I guess I’ll have to get serious and start blogging the whole affair if I want to remember what has happened in our first year at Warland.

Monica had a mixed time in Spain. The place, climate and food suited her well but other factors were a trial. Luckily, Kevin was there to share a laugh. I believe she spent a few days sketching. I haven’t seen the results but it’s a healthy occupation.

A funny idea occurred to me this morning, half-awake. You know the problem I have with my surname? Changing back to Harvey was my best idea until I thought, “Warland has a nice ring to it.” At last, a name that has a positive meaning for me. I’ll kick the idea around for a bit, until we’re settled, then maybe do the deed-poll thing before my identity here solidifies again. No-one will ever be able to trace me after my fourth name-change!

The Vespa is street-legal now, so we have a fun, fuel-efficient way to nip to the shops together. Huzzay!

We just saw the fencing contractor and the digger-driver off after their days’ work. The trees have taken over and are dictating these jobs to us: the fence is needed urgently because trees are being planted; the digger had to be called in to put in a short track so that the fencer could drive his post-basher up to the Spring Paddock. We have everything exactly backwards, so far.

The trees are a triumph, though. Five hundred and seventy are already enjoying life between the barn and the canal bridge. Oak woodland on the steep section, half an acre of hazel above that. Some grant money has been promised so the coppices are going in at full density; fourteen thousand trees will be planted in the next six weeks.
To prepare to get the spring overflow pipe away from the digging, I rolled out Ralph’s two-inch hose that he was using to experiment with hydroelectricity and dragged the bathtub into place to model a header tank at the barn’s level. Neither hose is long enough to reach the bath from the current spring overflow but, in true Warland style, the solution and materials presented themselves. Ralph visited and explained that some short sections of stainless tube (a mystery when I found them, carefully chamfered and de-burred) were intended as connectors for the hose, paired with a Jubilee clip on the outside. He then described the current tank system in more detail and it turns out the old, brick, house tank is still in place gathering the overflow from the new tank. I don’t know what size it is yet but at least we have a bit of a header tank for the system and a sensible, single capture point well away from, and uphill of the barn.

Watching the digger methodically create a major improvement for a fairly small cost also gives me confidence that we’ll be able to dry out the barns soon; we don’t have to wait until I feel strong enough to take a spade to the task. The driver liked the land, too, and found it easy to form. There’s a thin layer of mossy grass on top of four inches of clay, then good, firm glacial morain underneath. Once the trees get through the clay, they’ll go off like rockets. The mulch from their leaves will soon become incorporated and help break down the clay to let moisture through. I suppose the clay is the result of the grazing and the mono-culture that’s been dominant for a couple of hundred years; I don’t see how the land could survive much longer without the grass sliding off the clay. “Snotty Ground” is what the locals call it.

We had planned one half-acre fall of sweet chestnut but the Forestry have just raised an objection that it’s not native to this area. I’m persuading the planters to put the chestnut outside the grant area and to substitute micro-coppices of crab-apple, lime, cherry and rowan; all lovely wood for small projects like turning or edging. The lath that I was blithely burning as kindling turned out to be sweet chestnut and it’s price shocked me at 20p per foot! I started each fire with a £1 lath and the whole pile must be worth hundreds. I’ll save it, of course, but it also shows the sense in getting the chestnut in, somewhere.

I got the Vespa inspected this morning, to ensure it can be registered in England. It passed the tests, excelling at the emissions sniffer. “That’s not using much petrol at all!”, said the tester. It should be MOT’d and taxed within a fortnight so we’ll have a fuel-efficient, fun way to nip to the shops. Just got to avoid the growing potholes on the road down to the canal.

The state of the road is the main subject for discussion, wherever we call in Warland. We introduced ourselves to the neighbouring farm above us and they blamed the folk down here for the damage and for stealing their salt-bins, though they seem to have given us a grace period and allowed the fencer access to bring materials over the top of the hill. Our other main farming neighbour was a different case, as Monica discovered.

The fence stretches down the hill between ourselves and Stone House Farm, to the north along the slope. I asked Monica to have another go at making contact while I was pacing out the job with the contractor. When we got down, she was back and very disturbed by her experience. On her arrival, four men had furtively refused to make eye contact and the owner allowed his dogs to bark around her for some time before she asked him to call them off. When he heard what we were doing he said we had to stop because he’d claimed the “unused land” and it was his. Monica had to politely tell him he was dreaming before making her exit. Turns out, of course, that he’s made no such claim and that fencing it is the best thing we could do if he’s eyeing it up.

With all this activity outside, unpacking is still struggling to get our time but, the slower we do that, the longer until other projects start and the slower our out-goings. I have yet to find a toolbox of my own!

Monica and I had a delightful time at Warland with nothing but the bits of antique furniture that Ralph and Karin, the previous owners, left for us. We had excuses for not going out, not cleaning, not cooking anything complex, not being able to accommodate many guests. We loved having just the fire to watch in the evenings and secretly hoped that our container of stuff would fall off the ship. It didn’t, of course, and now we’re overwhelmed with boxes, beds and computer bits. I’m not really helping by buying woodworking machines and antiques before the stuff dumped in the workshop by the removalists has been cleared away.

I had a week here with all this plus a guilty conscience, while Monica shot through to spend a week in Spain with school friends and Kevin, her brother. Now that she’s back and project-managing the unpacking, we’re slowly getting through the crud. The farmhouse is on a smaller scale than Tennyson but most of the big items of furniture have found a place. The trick will be to get all those essential collections of wires, stationery, old towels etc hidden away leaving enough clear space to swing a Lowchen. I don’t think a keen reader has ever lived here, so the books will live in boxes for a while (again).

We’ve prioritised the projects we’ll be undertaking after the unpacking is complete. Bookshelves and more cupboards come high up, of course; the tree planting is under way; and guest accommodation is the big challenge. We’ve packed the two spare bedrooms with beds, so we can sleep five at the moment but the barn conversion is the plan. We set aside a lump of money and two years of ours lives for that but, by a miracle, another solution has presented itself. The concept of the conversion was to provide as green a house as possible; after describing this to some of the tree-planters, they have approached us with the idea of building an Earthship home, from their effort and expense. It would be a showcase for their ideas and skills but we get to keep and use it. It would be as green as you can get and still leave the barn as a performance space and gallery. Fingers crossed.

Two thousand trees sit in the alley behind the house, awaiting some fencing and a a hundred volunteers to plant them. Oak, birch, hazel, holly and gorse. Eventually, there’ll be 15–20 thousand planted: half to extend a neighbouring native forest, half in coppices to provide firewood, basket canes and many other useful products. We’ll also plant a forest garden in the nearest paddock with the help of ‘Incredible Edible Todmorden’ and a couple of meadows, too. Today, Monica’s wondering if we could harvest a crop of TLC-free hemp before the local pot-heads swipe it!

Counting up the projects, there are: twenty areas to plant, each at least half an acre; the guest accommodation to commission; rooms to fettle in the farmhouse (book-shelves, veggie storage etc); a brick oven, forge and pottery kiln to build; a 1969 Land Rover to renovate; wind and water power to harness; my book(s) to write; bees to gather, house and tend; all before the trees get big enough to harvest, ‘cos then we’ll be busy processing the cuttings. Enough to keep us busy, don’t you think? Stir in two huge families that expect visits, drop-ins from long-lost friends (most welcome, especially from overseas!), bikes that need riding, The Pelican, music, cooking and a hundred other essential activities, and I’m sure we’ll be fit to drop in a decade.

The house, fortunately, is in fine order and has survived the winter without drama, so I hope it doesn’t demand too much of our time while we kick off all these other entanglements. It’s odd to live amongst such a weight of stone: stone walls, roof, floors, stairs, yard, barns, windows and even shelves. Tennyson was a solid place, a pressure of concrete that defined the space and the response of the floors and walls. Warland is like a cave. It’s insulated and carpeted, heated by the Aga and the wood fire, double-glazed against the cold and the noise of the weather. We’re responding in sympathy, sleeping late and eating heartily, venturing out only when essential. Hibernation must be much like this.

The farmhouse has the same aspect as Tennyson, south-west facing. In this hemisphere, that has your profile to the sun rather than away from it, as we enjoyed there. From the slightest separation of the clouds, the sun warms the dark walls of the barns and makes the bench in the yard the only place to take your tea, sheltered from the breeze and with the view along the valley.

Bandit seems very happy to be here. She misses the beach walks, of course; the canal-path is more limited and is cold this season. But at home, she’s a bouncy, hungry, hairy hound who loves to be chased and caught and hugged. As Spring comes around, the hills above us will be more appealing for the walks.

Well, it’s late here and there are boxes to be opened tomorrow. Best get my twelve hours in.

Barn conversion: we’ve given this a modest budget and a three-year schedule but we’ve been approached by a group that want to build an Earthship home on our land as a demonstrator and to learn the skills. We get to keep the building as long as we allow visitors. This has happened while Monica is away and has got me very excited. If we all agree, they could provide the cash and effort for many of our projects—guest accommodation, wood oven (in the Earthship kitchen), hydro and wind power, even installing a few access roads. Plus, we could keep the barn pretty much as a barn, using it for such things as Monica’s donkey, extra storage and workshop, a performance space, a studio and gallery, though not all at once. I hope Monica sees what I can see and that my vision for this can be made real. An earth-covered, super-eco dwelling in the field behind the barn, surrounded by the forest garden and firewood coppices seems an ideal set-up. I’d encourage them to include accessibility in the design brief so that I can retire there when I lose my mobility.

I still miss Peter’s coffee chats and cheese lunches; now, especially, as Monica’s away for a week and there’s hard, glassy ice preventing much activity outside. Woosey, I know, and when I get out there, well wrapped up, it feels good but the farmhouse is lovely and warm. Today, I’ll be in Manchester for lunch with niece Stacy and the train ride will open up my mind a bit.

My main focus has shifted, this week. There was to be a tree-planting session next weekend but that’s been delayed, probably for the best. We were told that only a small corner could be done this season, so we’d only planned on a small stretch of fencing to protect that area. On Friday, we learnt that they want to plant the whole farm, to our plan. The fencing contractor couldn’t complete the work in time so there’ll be a delay, though everyone is confident that all six hectares will be waving in the breeze by summer. It would have been punishing to dig and drive stakes through this frost, so I’m glad of the change. There isn’t much access for machinery so a lot of the work will be manual. I’ve taken the boarding off the far barn door so that their Gator can get through to carry the heavy stuff. Monica is lusting after one of those for herself now; see pic. The fencer said she should stick to her idea of driving a donkey rather than rolling down the hill, suicidally, in one of these.

There’s always something to do, of course and focus has shifted to unpacking the last load of stuff, getting the house straight (and clean, now we have a vacuum cleaner). This place is on a smaller scale than 107 so, even though all the big furniture, amazingly, got through the doors we’ll have to get used to full rooms until we can sort and simplify.

I’m vigorously defending the workshop from encroachment by all the overflowing household stuff. There’s still space in the small barn loft for that but I’m not sure how all the shed-rubbish—bikes, gardening gear, camping crap etc—can be put somewhere accessible but out of the workshop. Actually, I just had the answer while typing this: all those wooden shelves, too dust-prone for the decent workshop I want to create, can go into the garage. There’ll be plenty of space for them if they can be levelled on the brick floor. Thanks for your help.

I have a few small machines arriving in the next couple of weeks: 
None is less than 500kg so I hope the truck’s crane works to specification because I’m hoping to get them across to that, then reverse in and lift the machines onto the raised floor. I’ll use the bandsaw for the test lift, once all the crap is out of the way. The saw is as old as me and could look like the one in this discussion http://www.woodworkuk.co.uk/forum/viewtopic.php?t=5757#p73216 Nice work for a winter’s night. The planer is already restored. The multifunction jobbie is old but never used; found in the back of a dealer’s shop when he retired. All three-phase, so a converter is in the plans. The good news is that all this fits into the space with room for a proper workflow, now that I’ve booted my neighbour’s metalwork machines into their own garage, next door to the wood shop. The oven, never a comfortable fit with the forge, will be built elsewhere.

Monica and I have made our list of projects for this year. Ignoring the 20+ areas of planting, they include enough to kill any ordinary mortals but the place just needs that oven, a boot-room, a hydroelectric system and some beehives! The hydro and my book have been moved up the order in the hope they’ll fund some of the more whacky schemes. The barn conversion has a modest budget but will take a year to get going (thanks goodness!).

Bandit says hi. She woofs at everyone, now, when they first arrive, even Monica and myself if we’re carrying an odd-shaped load. Her cataracts are getting worse so she relies on outlines to recognise us. Still, she’s up for catching the ball and even enjoys a chase around the house; a new game Monica has introduced to exercise the pair of them while it’s cold outside. Bandit is OK with a stroll down to the canal but doesn’t like going up the hill, especially on snow and ice. It’ll soon be spring and we’ll all stretch our legs more.

A friend of a friend of Monica’s was invited to use a house in the Sierra Nevada, so a few of them went over last Friday for a week, leaving me amongst the boxes and wrapping paper. Today’s main task is to get the washing machine working; if I achieve nothing else this week, there must be a few brownie-points in that.

Now, it’s time to grind the morning’s coffee. The Aga turns out to be ideal for roasting those green beans I brought from Australia and the results are still delicious. Want some?

I’m heading down the M40 to collect some tools on Monday. Been eBay-ing my workshop into existence. Not quite sure if the floor will stand the weight of the ancient, cast-iron panel saw that will be delivered next month. With that plus a planer-thickneser and a multi-function tool that includes a spindle moulder and morticing table, both equally old and solid, I’ll be on my way to doing some good, accurate work. Just have to learn their subtleties first.

The rest of our stuff arrived yesterday. Huzzay! The Vespa is shivering in the yard, under its cover and next to The Pelican. The outdoor furniture, having been born in Indonesia (hot and humid) and then domiciled in Adelaide (hot and dry) is now deployed out in the yard (freezing and dry, just now). I think any spring rain will see it off!

I’ve just made the acquaintance of the dentist recommended by our neighbours; I had chipped off the tip of an incisor. Turns out they’re right where I usually park to visit the Bear Café so I can get fixed up and immediately undo the work with a sweet cake.

We had to cancel Ralph and Karin’s dinner here, last Saturday, because of the snow. Now Karin’s first visit back to the farm will, as planned, allow her to sticky-beak at our furniture and cleaning standards. No excuses, as everything we need must be somewhere in these boxes. I’m seated on a comfy chaise-longue, looking across the parlour at the view; I haven’t had the benefit of this seating position before and it’s quite delightful. We now have a card table and chairs in the bay window, where we’re enjoying our newly-arrived, home-roasted coffee each morning, watching the roe deer against the snow on Moor Bank, opposite, and our tits swinging in the breeze.

Monica is away to the Sierra Nevada tomorrow morning but has just left her purse on the train from Manchester. I like such crises almost as much as I adore deadlines. I’m looking forward to some serious shed-time while she’s away. Maybe hire a mini-digger for some laughs.