‘Even the mightiest Oaks must kneel before the wind.’
William Jørgen Lundsgaard Jacobsen
I woke up around 2 am to the first stirrings of the wind, and took Betty and Albert around the garden to sniff what needed sniffing and to do what needed doing. The air was fresh and full of promise, and the rain getting heavier, so we went back in to the warmth and comfort of the cottage, made a fresh pot of coffee and settled in to wait.
The storm was due to hit mid morning, with some preliminary gusts in advance – as we sat and listened, the wind got stronger and I began to worry about the beech trees at the end of the garden. As the morning wore on and the storm reached its crescendo, I watched them hold firm, but feared for the cottage roof. The roar of the storm passed and eventually subsided – albeit to a less threatening gale type thing.
So, a little stir-crazy I ventured out to survey the damage, if any; a cherry in the garden, and a beautiful big ash had succumbed – the cherry was particularly sad to see as I’d planted it a long time ago. The ash, one of three, would leave space for the others to grow, and feed the fire in winters to come. All else was surprisingly, and thankfully, intact – the beech trees upright and only missing a few small branches.
Pulling on a coat, I walked across the field to count Eddy’s cows, and check on the stray sheep that had wandered in a few days before. The wind was still fierce, but seeing all the cows and sheep carrying on as if nothing was happening was reassuring. Then I started to notice some gaps in places they had no right to be – some old thorns, 5 big ash, and, saddest of all, as I crested the hill, the magnificent beech, lying stranded, its branches like great hands clawing the soil. It was at least 250 years old, maybe more, and one of only 4 that lined the boundary fence, where once there had been many more.
As I stood and looked, I recalled the words, William wrote years ago – Even the mightiest oak must kneel before the wind. It was a sad sight, and I wondered what it had witnessed in its long life – the many, many lives of men, the many more of animals, insects and birds that lived and passed under and through its great branches. Who had planted it? If I planted a new one to fill the space it left, I would never see it reach the full, vigorous glory of maturity.
In the evening, in front of the fire, I considered the bounty Éowyn had deliver to me – the thorn, the ash, and the magnificent beech – heat for the cottage, and an abundance of hot water; the beech will, I think, live on in a small way – I will use some of it for a chair, or two, and maybe a table. But, that is in the future. First I need to bring it home.
Standing next to it, I realised I will need a bigger saw!
So, I set to, and was making good progress, looking for pieces to save for future work, when mechanical failure ended play until the postman could deliver a new clutch, sprocket and roller bearing.
As I patiently waited, I calculated the fires, the tanks of hot water, and smiled inwardly. Then I thought about the work to come, the effort, the splitting of logs, the stacking, and the smile wavered a little. I counted the pain killers and anti-inflammatory tablets in the draw. May need to chat to the doc for a repeat prescription, or two…..
Postie delivered the parts, and after an hour or so, I was ready to go; only I wasn’t – the weather turned on me and I’ve had to wait for the rains to stop.
They did. Last Saturday was a glorious, crisp, bright day.
Not bad for now. Still a lot to do, and a new, bigger, saw to play with.