PaulS farm reality check
Posted: 21 Jul 2005, 00:30
Well, we have done it !
We have really done it this time!
No more half measures, no more just talking, no more just surfing Peak Oil sites and contemplating navels with other peakniks.
Now we are in the proverbial it up to our necks! In more sense than one.
This is the story of a perfectly respectable professional man with a grown up family who one fine day went bonkers, sold his and her perfectly respectable new suburban show house and bought a smelly old farm in deepest Cornwall. And the story of our struggles with the realities of rural life, the machinery, the stock, the wiring, BT, and drains, one must not forget the drains.
For those, who don't know yet know about our little adventure, we have bought a 60 acre farm near Bude in Cornwall, including the 150 resident sheep, farm and sheep dog, rusty old tractor with numerous attachments, the function of which is mostly mystery to me, cavernous 'cover yard', cow shed for about 25 animals (but no cows, yet) and lots more besides, which mostly looks like a pile of discarded rusty old prison cages ...
First day in - moving
Well actually about three days before moving I am setting out to transport my logs! Well, I am not about to leave my 2 year old logs behind, about a ton of them, from two large trees from our old garden. And the removal guys wanted an outrageous ?600 extra to take them.
But trusty old eBay comes to the rescue. For ?250 I get a truly enormous trailer (12x6 foot), load up all the logs, which just about fit, and here I am driving at 50 to 60 MPH rescuing my logs. (anything over 60 and the trailer starts to snake around something crazy, so at least I feel smug at saving all that oil at such a low speed).
But disaster is never too far away, as every pessimist knows - about a mile away to be exact, a mile from the farm, all kinds of noises coming from behind and trailer swings widely around as if I drive through a herd of wild boars, and yes you guessed it, tyre has blown and by now its torn to shreds and the trailer, including a ton of wood, is riding on the rim.
Frantic phone calls summon farmer Andy in his 6 seater pickup truck, where consumption is measures in gallons to the mile, turns up to assess the situation. Don't worry, just drive it to the farm and I will get it fixed tomorrow.
So off we go again, this time at about 3 miles per hour, Andy behind me with blinkers on. On the way I cave up several prize winning front lawns in my effort to keep off the hard concrete road, but to my surprise, we do arrive at the farm without the whole thing coming apart in the narrow lanes leading to our destination. True to his word, next day a local repair-all-man arrives, trailer, fully laden is lifted by the tractor, settled on a improvised ramp made of concrete slabs and a wheel taken away with a promise of early repair.
I know it can't be mended, but cowardly I keep quiet. I have tried to get a spare wheel in Kent and been told by at least five garages that is quite impossible, nobody uses this size of wheel any more!
Nevertheless, two hours later the wheel is back, banged into roughly round shape and a new tyre fitted! Unload logs, wave good bye and off we go back to fetch the garden stuff (which also a little too much for our removal company).
So first lesson of farming safely learned: everything can always be repaired.
Not a bad advice for a Post Peak life!
If you would like to know how we get on, do let me know and I'll keep you posted.
We have really done it this time!
No more half measures, no more just talking, no more just surfing Peak Oil sites and contemplating navels with other peakniks.
Now we are in the proverbial it up to our necks! In more sense than one.
This is the story of a perfectly respectable professional man with a grown up family who one fine day went bonkers, sold his and her perfectly respectable new suburban show house and bought a smelly old farm in deepest Cornwall. And the story of our struggles with the realities of rural life, the machinery, the stock, the wiring, BT, and drains, one must not forget the drains.
For those, who don't know yet know about our little adventure, we have bought a 60 acre farm near Bude in Cornwall, including the 150 resident sheep, farm and sheep dog, rusty old tractor with numerous attachments, the function of which is mostly mystery to me, cavernous 'cover yard', cow shed for about 25 animals (but no cows, yet) and lots more besides, which mostly looks like a pile of discarded rusty old prison cages ...
First day in - moving
Well actually about three days before moving I am setting out to transport my logs! Well, I am not about to leave my 2 year old logs behind, about a ton of them, from two large trees from our old garden. And the removal guys wanted an outrageous ?600 extra to take them.
But trusty old eBay comes to the rescue. For ?250 I get a truly enormous trailer (12x6 foot), load up all the logs, which just about fit, and here I am driving at 50 to 60 MPH rescuing my logs. (anything over 60 and the trailer starts to snake around something crazy, so at least I feel smug at saving all that oil at such a low speed).
But disaster is never too far away, as every pessimist knows - about a mile away to be exact, a mile from the farm, all kinds of noises coming from behind and trailer swings widely around as if I drive through a herd of wild boars, and yes you guessed it, tyre has blown and by now its torn to shreds and the trailer, including a ton of wood, is riding on the rim.
Frantic phone calls summon farmer Andy in his 6 seater pickup truck, where consumption is measures in gallons to the mile, turns up to assess the situation. Don't worry, just drive it to the farm and I will get it fixed tomorrow.
So off we go again, this time at about 3 miles per hour, Andy behind me with blinkers on. On the way I cave up several prize winning front lawns in my effort to keep off the hard concrete road, but to my surprise, we do arrive at the farm without the whole thing coming apart in the narrow lanes leading to our destination. True to his word, next day a local repair-all-man arrives, trailer, fully laden is lifted by the tractor, settled on a improvised ramp made of concrete slabs and a wheel taken away with a promise of early repair.
I know it can't be mended, but cowardly I keep quiet. I have tried to get a spare wheel in Kent and been told by at least five garages that is quite impossible, nobody uses this size of wheel any more!
Nevertheless, two hours later the wheel is back, banged into roughly round shape and a new tyre fitted! Unload logs, wave good bye and off we go back to fetch the garden stuff (which also a little too much for our removal company).
So first lesson of farming safely learned: everything can always be repaired.
Not a bad advice for a Post Peak life!
If you would like to know how we get on, do let me know and I'll keep you posted.