Barefoot in the kitchen: I have a dream...One year in Somerset

As summer slides into autumn and the new season gilds the trees with orange it has, somehow, been one year since we thought we didn't stand a chance of getting our Dream Farm. How wrong we were and how many other things we have been wrong about in the last twelve months.

This time last year we were feeling pretty lacklustre about the whole sorry affair...the auction was due to start at 7pm on 27 September 2016 and the farm was Lot 1. We didn't hold out much hope in the face of the countless people we had heard about who were also interested and who had also raised money well in excess of the teeny tiny whip everyone up into a frenzy guide price. We were so convinced that we didn't stand a chance, despite the begging and borrowing, that I opted to stay at home whilst Big G went to play our hand and congratulate the lucky new owners with a grace usually reserved for actors losing out on a Best Actor award at the Oscars. And so it transpired that as I lay in the bath flicking through fashion magazines, torturing myself with images of skinny models whilst my body geared up for baby number two, Big G was in a bidding war with a consortium of festival folk; a war that ultimately we won, much to our shock and delight, on our very last bid.

So, here we are, one year on and about a million things have happened both to us as a family and to the farm. I cannot possibly remember them all and would bore you all to death if I could, so here is a somewhat odd and totally incomplete list of things that have occurred down on the farm:

We had a baby.
We survived a rat infestation.
We made it to ten years together which given the previous point is a not inconsiderable miracle. There is still some debate over whose fault the open packet of lasagne sheets in the barn actually was. Needless to say it was not me.
We got a cat and simultaneously eradicated our rat problem (we hope), although I would not recommend getting a kitten and a newborn at the same time unless you are ambivalent to the future of your nipples ladies.
We had a friendly squatter who ended up care taking the land for us after we had roof tiles stolen an before we were able to move on site.
We have learnt and continue to learn lots about the planning process, primarily that it is most akin to dating (if I remember dating accurately) complete with mysterious etiquette, politics, goodies and baddies and obscure rules that only become apparent after you have bulldozed your way through them with good intentions.
Big G has mastered the art of the digger.
Big G has dug a lot of paths.
Big G dug more paths.
We dug a bore hole to supply our water.
We have learnt what the tritylodont Oligokyphus is as our quarry walls have some fragments of fossilised tritylodonts.
In the spring we learnt that grasses bloom and that our field is transformed into a riot of colour and texture when they do.
We now know that the north facing barn that we though would be bathed in shade during the summer months is anything but and that what will one day be our garden is in fact bathed in sunlight from dawn until dusk during the few months that we might actually be able to sit outside.
Our little corner of Somerset is besieged by fog for much of the autumn and winter. When it is not foggy, it is calm and has the clearest blue skies that we could have hoped for. When it is foggy we cannot see any of the barns from our caravan. We love both.
We have discovered that Ash wood burns well unseasoned, which is lucky as we have also sadly learnt that ash dieback is closing in on us and that, by all accounts, resistance is futile.
We rejoiced at the realisation that we live 3.5 miles form the site of Glastonbury Festival.
We have learnt about bats and have three of them living in the barn-that-will-be-home.
We have learnt that you need to provide special homes for bats when you want to disturb their peace by turning their home into your home.
We have uncovered caves that mankind has never seen before and rediscovered caves that have not been seen for 50 years.
We have had a glimpse of the murky and totally mystifying world of the mendip cavers (for cavers read a bonkers few who opt to spend their weekends and evenings in the cold and the dark, wading through water and squeezing through crevices).
I realised that I really quite miss my bath.
We have registered as smallholders and are soon to be the proud owners of sheep and chickens.
We have had and dismissed 4000** business ideas.
We have found a wall to a grand house that used to stand on our land over 400 years ago and which had concrete poured on it about 50 years ago. I have yet to find out more about it but from what we have heard anecdotally it belonged to William Strode and was demolished because of his opposition to Kings Charles I and II.
We have met some wonderful new people many of whom had their first spliff/drink/snog in our quarry.
On a near daily basis one of us will discover a new view of Glastonbury Tor and will wax lyrical to the other about it despite our land being pretty much the only land in this part of Somerset that does not actually have a view of the Tor...watch this space for Tor-viewing-treehouse-construction news.
We have totally fallen in love with both the idea and the reality of living in Somerset.