Dark autumn thoughts

It doesn't happen often but there are occasional days where I question whether or not smallholding is for me. Its been two years hard work, both Tracey and I work full time to be able to live here, then there is the hard work once we get home, the never ending jobs list, the weather and the behaviour of our animal clan all sometimes seem to conspire to make things extraordinarily difficult. Life was so much easier in our three bed modern semi.

Our two year celebration of having survived all that's been thrown at us was slightly muted by a letter from the bank informing us of a 50% increase in our mortgage payments. I say slightly as in the same way the Titanic was a slightly bad shipping disaster. Due to the current financial climate no new mortgage deals are available to reduce the cost of living here and the monthly payment is now at a level where we could rent a medium size farm for less.

It caused a couple of dark days where plots similar to Guy Fawkes were imagined to punish the wonderful bankers who created the current bust but they left me when I went for a walk around the hill. The autumn colours proved a useful distraction, as did the dogs charging around the dead bracken. I even managed to lose Faith, the Gordon setter, entirely for the walk, she does have a bright orange coat especially for this time of year so I can spot her on the hill, but today she disappeared until I rounded the final turn home and she came running towards me.

A bush spoke to me along the way.

Two years ago I would have been startled that foliage should suddenly find a voice, but having Mad Keith the techno hermit as a neighbour its common for him to spring up from the greenery, hopefully fully clothed, and start a conversation that either enlightens or completely baffles. Only last weekend he jumped up from a gorse bush exclaiming "Is that an orse?"

As I was gripping the lead rope of William the Welsh Cob I felt it was safe to reply "Yes Keith its an orse"

He climbed down onto the track, William eyed him closely, retaliate first is his motto and no strange man leaping from bushes was going to get one over on him. "Have you ever had an orse Keith?" I asked, hoping he would realise by had I meant owned and not anything unsavoury. He shook his head and patted William chuckling to himself, "No." there was a very long pause punctuated by a plop plop plop sound as William left his mark on the track. "I had a cat though" Keith added, "He was called Tim"

I looked up the hill to the rough location of a piece of tin on the hillside with TIM painted on it marking the cats mortal remains. Keith started down the hill "I got another" he shouted over his shoulder

"Whats he called?" I shouted back

"I dunno, I call him lots of things" and the hermit was gone.

It wasn't the hermit who spoke from the bush yesterday, but a traveller who was visiting his horse, Molly, who is on the hill. Molly is massive, able to eat a whole apple in one mouthful and the most gentle attentive beast imaginable. I saw him before he spoke but let him think he had surprised me, we spent a very nice ten minutes or so passing the time of day, talking about the weather, about his horse, how worried he was that she was up here alone. I found I was able to keep up with what he was saying, obviously I had learned a thing or two about horses and didn't make myself look a complete idiot. We parted company and I promised to keep an eye on Molly for him. It might sound daft but that conversation with the traveller confirmed that it really is worth all the effort to live here. The beauty of the place, the community of the valley all make life worth living. Any doubt I had was further expelled on my return to Rock HQ, as I turned my back on Trevor he gently reminded me that he was there by biting me.

Life's great isn't it!