Two weeks in

It's winter and that means lots of sorting out and clearing up jobs in the garden. We have been making large "doughnuts" of old straw around our fruit trees to put them to bed for the season. They look like they are settled in large nests or perhaps sporting an eco version of the Elizabethan ruff. A local thatcher provides the goods and we work the magic. We have bedded down our tay berries and raspberries amongst other soft fruit. Our forest garden will get a look in soon; it holds such delights as an almond tree, apricot tree and mulberry. The chickens set a new laying record this morning by firing out 27 eggs. Our WWOOFer Louise is now seen by me as the chicken whisperer of our feathered friends......
The cabin is feeling like home now with belongings ensconced and burner on the go. Moving my dreamcatcher has produced the ususal glut of weird dreams. Last night's effort was of being attacked in the head by Moon (one of my fellow apprentices) and a large caterpillar. It was disturbingly real, so much so that I was late for morning check in. This is where we sit and let everyone know how we are and anything we want to share. It's odd at first but you get right into it. However my tardiness was not the main topic of conversation as we were interrupted. We sit outside to check in. On benches. On bits of cardboard. And this morning a deer flew past our circle. Then another. Then another. In total around 8 belted past in a line and curved past us. It was like the Christmas Reindeer Cabaret all that was lacking was santa and a sleigh. The front runner made a break for the fence which surrounds E, a deer-proof fence apparently. It reminded me of the time my friend Tim-the-bong told me of running at the inner fence at Glastonbury (back in the days when you could) and getting nearly high enough to clear it.  Instead he cracked the top of his nose on it and slid down, clearly leaping was not his speciality. As he lay dazed and confused and slightly concussed a security guard in a 4 x 4 pulled up and rolled down the window. Eyeing Tim levelly he came out with the legend, "That's gonna hurt in the morning mate!" and then drove off leaving him to fend for himself and haul his own arse over the fence. In a similar fashion the deer didn't make it and stacked it down then pelted across the driveway over some alternative fencing into the sheep field. This time it made it but the smaller ones didn't and they stacked it. What a mess. They cannot bear to be contained. A consensus to open a few gates was reached so Prancer and Co could find their own way home. Haldon forest is teeming with deer, infact we ate road kill venison the first night I was here. It was delicious. We even ate it off the bone passing it aorund like a medieval banquet. The Embercombe minibus had found it dead on the road as they were heading out a few weeks back. Dan, my predecessor, had manfully stepped up to the challenge of removing the innards to allow the meat to keep and therefore be eaten. A first-time-hand at this, he drew his knife, dealt with it kindly, threw the deer into the back of the minibus washed his hands in a puddle and announced "Onwards! To the party!" or something similar, and off the merry band trundled as they had first intended. What a winner.
I left Embercombe for the first time since my arrival this weekend and headed south for the old Shire of Kernow, catching up with friends old and new. Wafted around Falmouth, walked a bit of the coast path, drank hot chocolate with marshmallows at The Sand Bar at Praa Sands (if you are ever there buy one of these they are amazing and I'm not even that keen on hot chocolate) and got smashed about in the surf like a mackerel in a tsunami. Even found time to visit Pengoon Farm, resplendent with mud, dog shit and questionable eggs, it brought back joyful memories, received two drumming lessons and watched the full "Ice" moon in all her glory with a bit of night wandering and star gazing. I felt slight trepidation at first. It was strange to be back in the old town like entering a hall of memories. But memories can be alright and they allow you to see how you've moved on when sometimes other people and things around you have not changed at all. I couldn't help but do my usual assesment of the size of the gene pool in certain areas. I particulalry remember the 13 year old lad sporting a crayfish on his T shirt behind me in queue at the supermarket with the unforgettable caption - "Prawn Star". Cornwall is unique and it's hard to explain how unless you've spent a bit of time submersed in it.
But now I'm back on the ranch and glad to be here. I spent the day making raised beds with some volunteers, whacking posts with a sledge hammer and making endless trips up the site to the workshop as we forgot drill bits, the right size nails and other things we needed. I comandeered a site bike and careered along half brakeless with the back wheel banging the back fork wondering if the wheel was simply set to spin off into the distance with me sat on nothing but air. The site van is in a similar state with the back doors held together with rope. I may learn to drive the red tractor soon......