Side tracked on 6 acres

No art this past week. The sun came out and I hurt from stem to stern. I've been reminded every May is this way. Scratched, bruised, sun burned and sore. Keeping up with Mother Nature in May is a difficult task. For weeks and weeks it has rained down on us - in great big buckets. It was upsetting because you could hear the grass growing the whole time. So when suddenly it was nice out - holy cow! Get out the machete! My whole life changed - big swaths of time were dedicated to one purpose. To restore order and a path to the house!  One day was spent mowing hill and dale, the next it was  trimming trees (which was suppose to be weed whacking but the shade was preferable - since my skin hadn't seen sunlight in months). I mean, the sun was soooo bright and hot! For two days I picked up limbs and trimmings which I constructed into this lovely above my head brush pile berm on the edge of the pond very artfully arranged I thought. I hope the winter rains will reduce it down eventually turning it into soil (in my lifetime?)  As I dragged the last load to the pile this 'voice' welled up inside me and said "that is enough of that! It is time to play!"

OMG! I play as hard as I work, but this morning when I had my first cup of tea out there - it was pretty wonderful. With my imagination on fire I studied the situation from the inside. I brought with me a cut up milk jug. Thinking it might make a nice outer covering. It would let in the light yet be strong. I do think the covering for my little land bound crannog should be from some sort of recycled product. Although if I don't get to weed whacking soon I could cover it with shocks of grass. But, oh my... it is so lovely to look out in all directions. If only I could have it be transparent. Any ideas out there?

So, that's my story and I am sticking to it!

Under the shade of the old plum orchard...with clippers, long loppers, short loppers, chain saw and weed whacker.

After:
I know it is hard to imagine you can make a pile 15 feet long, 5 feet high from this little spot, but you can.

 

You have seen those etchings of old women hauling sticks on their back, right?

See me dragging sticks up the hill to my little crannog.

My little crannog is a 'land' crannog surrounded by a wall, rocks dug out of the pasture by hand, thank you very much. I got tired of chipping them down with the mower. Did I mention I needed a new mower? Yeah, that part hurt too. I know the Scottish built their crannogs over water, but if you use your imagination you will see the green as a pond filled with beaver dams in the distance (actually they are more brush piles). There's at least 5 brush piles that are 4 - 8 feet high. The blackberries are trying my spirit and my skin, and trying to take over the pasture as are the nettles, thistles, and thorny prune plums. I ask does everything have to have a thorny needle? No, there's ivy and privet and apparently grass made in hell. Just ask my 7th weed whacker.

But really, when you sit there in the little crannog, tea cup in hand, ignoring the jets flying over and Gorge the goose who apparently has assigned himself the job of waking the neighborhood, it is pretty darn nice. They say it will rain today. Maybe grass would make a nice covering?