sycamore – Uppedsticks with Pigs

The illusive and lesser-spotted diggerman finally made his appearance on Good Friday. So in every sense it was a “good” Friday. He had arrived the previous Saturday to look at the job. I had relatives visiting so couldn’t spend long with him. His parting words were “I’ll see you Friday. ” Then during the week I got a text from my neighbour who is a mate of his to say he’d be with me Saturday. I assumed he had asked my neighbour to pass the message on.

On Friday I was reclining in the bath contemplating a lazy day ahead when I heard a commotion outside. After a few minutes it dawned on me it sounded like a digger. I lurched out of said bath half drying myself, wrestling with underwear and giving up. I pulled up a tracksuit bottom and threw on a t-shirt and ran out in pink fluffy slippers to let him in……

The chap never batted an eyelid. He had no idea why my neighbour had told me Saturday. I then threw on a pair of clogs and ran to lock in the goats, shove the pigs into the middle paddock and close gate, switch off electric fencing, wrestle open the yard gate, drop electric fencing so he could drive over it to dump the stuff he dug up. Suffice it to say neighbour’s ears must have been doing some burning.

The plan was to load dumper and drive out front gate and into field through field gate but I looked at the dumper and said I thought it would fit through the yard gate. Diggerman looked at me dubiously. Never, ever argue with a woman. He fitted. Enough said. We are not all spatially unaware!

He proceeded to remove mounds of stuff before tackling the tree stumps. The old pig sty which I now use as a henhouse had had a mound of soil dumped in front of it from when they dug out the septic tank. I knew there was plastic in it because last summer we tried to remove it and gave up. He dug away at it and then called me. He reckoned the wall would cave in if he went any further. I told him wall was sound from inside and to keep at it. He did and got the stumps out. What was revealed was the stone rubble base which will be left to dry out and we can hopefully repair.

I couldn’t believe the space. The soil is really good as well – lovely friable loam. Well it would be after years of leaf mould.

Next he opened and moved the gates into the area beside the hay shed where the other pile of stuff had been dumped when they were digging the septic tank out. More plastic, rusty iron, glass, and an old plough. I just can’t get my head around the mentality. My dad always said the Irish were a filthy race. I’m inclined to agree even though I’m Irish and I would never, ever litter. It was ingrained in me from a child. I used be mortified when dad tackled people littering. Now I admire his courage.

He started on the sycamore that had seeded itself right beside the hayshed that I had cut down last year. I said to him please don’t damage the shed. He told me with tree stumps you just have to be patient and keep at them. He did and after over an hour got it out.

Then he moved to behind my fridge/freezer sheds. These are probably built 70 years. The farmer’s wife used one as her dairy, so I’m told. The other has the dog’s name, Ross on the door and his bed was still in it when I moved in. I use it for coal and garden tools now.

There were two massive sycamores behind it. Last year they were cut down and the huge stumps were left behind. I was fed up asking people how I’d remove them. They all sucked in through their teeth and suggested injecting with weed killer (no bloody way), diesel, petrol, washing up liquid…….. I kid you not. I had reconciled myself to leaving them there and chopping down the shoots periodically.

He took into the first and started patiently and rhythmically rooting at it. His father arrived and directed him. It was like watching an opera. They kept at it then asked had I an axe. I had. They had got down to a massive root that was running under my sheds. It had already caused the huge crack in the wall. They hacked at it. They kept hacking at it until it split, then they began to loosen the stump.

The stump came loose and they began to try to remove it with a digger that was way too small. The dad said to me “where there’s a will there’s a way.” They got it out.

Next day they arrived back to take the other one out. I had to leave to collect the new piglets. I was only going to outside Clonroache, 20 miles or so away but it would take me 40 mins. The roads around here are designated “R” rural or “L” local. R should stand for rubbish and L for ludicrous. When I got back what greeted me was the first photo here. They had got the second stump out but had to call a friend with a teleporter to remove it. It was so massive it was one third the size of my sheds. Do not allow sycamores to seed and grow near buildings. This had to be less than 70 years old. They hardly built the sheds on a sycamore…….

Today I went out to take stock and commune with the pigs, as I do. The mound added to the previous building rubble mound (from house renovations), stunned me but not because of the size – which is huge, but because of the plastic pollution in it.

The amount of plastic is staggering and it dawned on me that a lot of it is probably older than I am, and it’s still intact, albeit a bit crumbly. A good reminder that plastic is indestructible and not even slightly biodegradable.

Honky loved it. She pulled it out to lie on in the sun. Pigs aren’t stupid. She knew it would keep the still cold soil at bay.

In other news I’ve got new weaners. A pair of terrified Durocs. They’re not electric fence trained so fun and games ahead. For now they’re in the shed beside the annoying goats. Soon they will be out and about and probably in with the neighbour’s mares and foals. Which it’s why you always need to keep your neighbour sweet.

For someone who lives for light and cooking I had managed to buy a house with the darkest most depressing kitchen on the planet. I did overlook this fact at the time because the rest of the house was perfect. I had finally re-done my kitchen in my old house after years and although it was “only” an Ikea kitchen, it was perfect and I loved it. The kitchen come dining area was south facing and was filled with sunlight. Now I was faced with walking into a cave every morning. The sense of gloom that enveloped me was unreal. I found myself spending less time in it and was disinclined to cook which was really unusual for me.

There was no light entering at all on the west facing wall. The back door was solid. I decided one of the first things I absolutely had to do was replace the entire door with a glass panel. I ordered it and waited and waited. Finally they rang to tell me they would be out to fit it.

Not only was I happy to be able to see out, the duck liked seeing in

The difference that made was unreal. Then I got a bee in my bonnet about the oh-so-shiny kitchen that did not suit the house at all and decided I had to change it. However, sense took over and I put that further down the list.

I debated extending the kitchen out to make a kitchen dining area but I had a small cosy dining room anyway and a small sitting room. I got a great tip from my builder friend who had come house hunting with me. He told me lay out wood on the ground in the shape and size you think you will need and mark windows and doors to get a feel for the size of the area. I did this but then I was out walking one day where I do a lot of my thinking, I remembered friends who live in Tipperary and how I had always envied their covered deck which they call the stoop. That was it. I was going to do something similar with a partial roof. The reason not to roof the whole area was it would have meant losing a window in my bedroom (which is a floor window). The windows in this house are in short supply and for the most part are small sash windows so that was not an option. Plus there was little point putting a window in the dining room then sticking a roof over it.

I have to say that I am the kind of person that wants to do everything yesterday. There were the usual delays but the longest was the 8 week lead in time to get the new double doors and window from Rationel. The builder had costed them from Munster Joinery but they were horrible. So because he had to wait for the doors and window before he could lay the patio, the work stopped. Eventually it got finished a full two months after it should have been.

All the time it was being built I was getting comments to the effect that I was mad; I would never be able to sit out here, that the wind would skin you, there will never be sun ever again, you’ll freeze, it’s a waste of money. But come the end of April when the sun finally did appear I was justified and so glad I stuck to my guns. Because I have lived on it ever since. I haven’t sat in my dining room or sitting room since because they are dark and cold so the television hasn’t been switched on either. The kitchen is now filled with warm evening sun and even on a dull day is immeasurably brighter.

Now that this job is finished every other job to do with the house has been shoved very far down the list and I am itching to get working on the old out buildings. So far I’ve got doors put on the little sheds in the field the weaner pigs are in. I also pulled all the ivy off the roof.

All the trees have been cut down. Sacrilege I hear you cry but it really isn’t. They were for the most part self-seeded sycamore and ash growing in the most difficult locations and a danger to all the buildings. How they stayed upright during Hurricane Ophelia I will never know. The boys cutting them down couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been removed before the house was renovated. They had a point because if the one a couple of meters from the kitchen window had fallen, the entire house would have been flattened.

I am so grateful though that the old farm buildings weren’t demolished. If I had a penny for everyone who said to me “it’s an awful pity the whole place wasn’t razed to the ground and started again.” We have no respect for our architectural heritage here. All around are beautiful old farm houses and outbuildings standing derelict beside a horrible new house that doesn’t suit the terrain, the area or the landscape. Houses built from non-indigenous material like red brick or non-local stone. Why there aren’t grants to encourage people to restore old buildings is a crying shame. When you drive around our nearest neighbour Wales – particularly in the Snowdonia National Park, they have kept all their old farm buildings and houses and you never see a big tasteless red brick house stuck up on a hill side.

Next on the never-ending list is restore the hay shed (repair, clean and paint), clear out the junk out of the old sheds and paint them and the doors and finally clear an area to make a garden. I think this is going to be a very long project.

Tag: sycamore

The Diggerman

The Extension