Digging trenches

The primroses, in their exquisite pastel yellows are out on the shady lane, which leads past the ancient 17th century farms, down to the ranch.

Theings are changing fast in the outside world. The ranch is the same though – spring trundles forward unconsciously and the magnificent view, tempered daily by fleeting shades of grey and pastel changes, is consistent.

The 1965 van has has been working hard at its mountain goat best. Daily trips of building supplies down that crumbling rugged track – timber, aggregate, fencing. On Wednesday I went to Trawden over the tops, surrounded by magnificent countryside. I worked my way back via Colne, in and out of fencing places and builder’s merchants – the van negotiates the winding country roads with effortless ease and almost seems happy. I’m stocking up in case everything closes.

The floods are only just beginning to subside. On the hillside, rivulets still flow amidst the mud. The first trip down was punctuated with lashing rain and I had butterflies in my stomach. I was scared that the van would get stuck, but it didn’t. All 6 of those handsome aeroplane-like side windows are leaking as are all the doors (UK split screens have just 2 pop-out windows, mine, a South African import, has 6).

My week off has been dedicated to preparation, particularly on the ranch. I’m trying to gear myself up psychologically for what’s coming.

Apart from finishing the greenhouse, the number one priority is to make a roadway from the track into the field – past the long downward sloping beds towards the barn. Being able to get a vehicle on and off the field has become imperative. In dry weather, it’s no problem but the endless rain has transformed the existing thoroughfare into an eight-inch deep mud-bath.

Filling it with rubble and covering with concrete is the longer-term goal, but it would be pointless without putting in drainage first. Twice now, I’ve discovered old land drains when digging. The first ones were metal, which I picked up when dowsing for water in the main allotment (a lot of people are cynical about dowsing, because there’s no scientific evidence for it). The second was the summer before last when I started digging the well in the field. These were 8″ diameter clay pipes – probably older than the metal ones. Both lots were about two feet deep in the clay. It’s clear that the land has been carefully managed in the past. I’d love to know more of its history.

I’m digging trenches. The first is a horizontal one along the bottom of the beds. Forked arteries will then drain down to the run-off around the well. The horizontal one goes down to the clay level. The arteries will have to be deeper, because the slutchy top soil will have to come off before concreting begins. The diggings go in the wheelbarrow, half way up the hill to the area next to the greenhouse, which I’m slowly levelling off in anticipation of a poly-tunnel. It’s all heavy physical labour. Many times, people have said to me ‘Why don’t you hire a mini-digger?‘

Once dug, the trenches will be filled with an 8″ plastic land drain surrounded by rubble and topped with chippings.

At work, it’s all changed. Everyone is working flat-out to prepare. The department is re-configured in anticipation. The atmosphere is nervously charged and there’s still a lot of uncertainty as advice changes on a daily basis. Digging trenches in preparation for a medical onslaught.

Every propagator is full and labelled and dated. I’ve started to use the roof space in the greenhouse. I’ve made one of the propagators into a hot bed by filling the bottom with fresh manure. Mid-March is the time for first earlies to go in but I’m waiting a couple of weeks to compensate for the colder higher ground. I’ve got Pentland Javelin.

Growing food locally could soon to become a necessity. Cutting the wheat from the chaff becomes more than a metaphor, both on the ranch and in the wider world.