The best, the worst. Corvus corone!

I’m sitting in the green plastic chair, capturing a transient moment of March sunshine. A bee lands close by on a blade of grass. She is practically motionless apart from gentle prayer-like movements of her front legs. Her back is striped-brown but her belly is bright dappled yellow. It takes more observation to realise why.

Her pollen sacks are full and her yellow undercoat is a dusting of pollen. She has been waggle-danced to an early-flowering rich bush of yellow flowers. I realise she is one of mine. Like me, she is resting. A long grey damp winter, huddling in a cocoon with her comrades has left her without reserve. I know, that like the rest of nature, at this particular moment, no interference or engineering from me is necessary.

The valuable engineering of nature by humans is a gentle observational and intuitive affair. At the right time, it requires massive bursts of clever creation then it requires nothing but quiet observation.

For the bee, the work is already done. It was observation and intuition that chose the best place for the elegantly functional raised hive platform that Sam, James, Bryn and I built. It has the best view of the hills to the east and enjoys the best of the rising sun through to mid afternoon, before the hot sun, should it come, is shaded by an elder tree.

Two minutes becomes ten minutes and we both remain largely motionless. Like her, I too am exhausted. Nobody really understands the waggle-dance or how it works. Mine leads me time and time to this raw rugged plot on this raw rugged hillside with its rugged secret beauty.

The seedlings are germinating. The frog spawn is hatching. There is hope in this wonderful place, despite chaos elsewhere. I feel supremely privileged to have it. Now that everything has changed, there are opportunities to reset for the better.

I knew all along that growing food, dove-tailed into a busy life, was a best-kept secret, ancient but new. Heaven in the ordinary. Ornamental borders will become veg patches world-wide.

People are stockpiling – why wouldn’t they? Some people are buying for isolated friends and family. But seriously, people buying to sell on, at inflated prices for the sake of profit and greed? You’re stopping front-line healthcare workers being able to sustain themselves. As for the twat who stole the last toilet roll from my sister in law’s shopping trolley – welcome to the arsewipe register.

We don’t know exactly what the trilli-billi-millionaires are doing, but without a doubt, they will be taking advantage of relaxed governance to protect their own interests and profit from the pandemic.

As ever on the ranch, there’s the daily short-term stuff: plant; plant; plant, and the longer term infrastructure stuff – finish the greenhouse ffs! I spotted the family of crows on the roof the other day. I was up there yesterday watering the seedlings and I noticed several holes in the plastic greenhouse roof. F’ing arseholes – the crows have done it! I can see their pin-prick talon holes next to 2 or 3cm punched holes. The roof has survived the winter gales and now the crows have ruined it! Are they malicious? I’ve read too many Castaneda books to think of harming them. Corvus Corone – how apt. There’s a subliminal lesson there somewhere.

I’m doing what I’ve always done – trying to build a system not dependent on the gripping vice-greed of the ultra-rich. I’m just a bit more focused on mitigating for the imminent lock-down. I’ve been stocking up on building materials and so on. In the sleepless harrowing nights of the last couple of weeks, my anxiety has been presciently purposeful.

As above, so below has become more achingly poignant than ever. Lessons from the ranch are lessons from life. Will I get Covid? Of course I will. The only question is when and how bad.