The Fairy Woods

    Everyone must have fond memories of private places from their childhood. Places that inspired the imagination to flesh out an adventure or a make-believe shelter. Places that felt safe and secure from the real world. On one of my early walks through the woodland of LeCoste I entered an ugly dump site where the rubbish of maintaining 20-odd rural houses was deposited and occasionally burned. Piles of charred mattresses, broken wardrobes, masonry, roof tiles, old sinks, even grave stones. The dump was oddly located near the top of a lovely, grassy hill, nearly the highest point on the estate. Other people's rubbish can be interesting and after helping myself to a couple of old tiles, I wandered to the top of the hill and into the most remarkable stand of young trees.

    I can't identify the trees but they remind me of the california live oak. Pinnate leaves, smooth young bark, dark and knarly, the trunks only 4 to 6 inches in diameter. Throughout the rest of the LeCoste woodland, one must struggle through tough underbrush somtimes spiney and thorny, but this wood had a clear floor covered only in leaves and a dense canopy keeping it clean, cool and dark. Looking carefully, a pattern to the planting revealed itself. Rank and file, the trees were obviously planted on purpose. Among the trees stood two tiny brick cottages with broken roofs and battered doors but enough detail to reveal wonderful, old construction. Even more curious was a strange brickworks looking like an old foundation. It took the form of a narrow trench leading away from one of the cottages to a square in the ground and then beyond to peter-out among the leaves. The bricks were old and the trench too small to be a fortification and too improbable to be an aqueduct.

    I took the first opportunity to bring the kids to my newly discovered land and they fell in love with it just as easily as I did. It became a favorite destination for them, their friends and their toys. "Fairy Woods" became the new name and everyone on the estate soon knew of it.
    Two days ago, I walked up to the Fairy Woods and found it destroyed by chainsaws. Harvested for firewood. LeCoste has been selling its woodland as fuel, sacrificing its magic for a little bit of money. My memories of the wood and the impression it left are so strong, I find myself preferring my imagination to what's left of the actual place.

marzo e pazzo

     March is crazy. It's the second of March and it's a momentous occasion. A month ago we awoke to what turned out to be almost a month of snowbound isolation. Today I was forced to remove my long johns. This isn't something I do casually or often. I sleep in the damn things. Sometimes I wake in the night, sweating, and shove them down to my ankles; but they only come off for special occasions. They normally go on in November and come off in April. Really. This year I'm very thankful to my brother Matt for lending me two pairs of his best so now I'm able to change them every month or so. I know, I know, you're thinking I'm a complete grub; but actually it's not that bad. I'm a clean person, but the need for warmth can overcome a few other needs.
    I'd send you a picture, but my camera battery charger is broken. Sorry.
   Anyway, today I was forced to remove my long johns. It was that hot. Richie and I continue to work indoors where it's cold, but I was still overheating. Alex and her mother worked outside sifting fine sand for our plaster mixes and I found myself checking on their progress fairly often. They, predictably, were complaining from under their huge sun hats. We had spread the sand out on large wooden panels to allow the sun to dry the sand, making it easier to sift. The old camper van was loaded and the sand circulated by wheelbarrow from van to drying panel to sifting screen to storage vessel to mixing tub to builder's bucket to, finally, the wall. Mixing, spreading and finishing the plaster takes effort and concentration. After a few hours the chill of the morning wore off, the hot tea kicked in, the solar panels began their work, and before you knew it, one is sweltering in on's long johns. Around about  noon or so, I glanced over to Alex and cocked my head in question. Sure enough, she had removed her long johns as well.
   We're working on the middle floor corridor and it's northwest bedroom. Both areas are getting proper electrics, new wall plaster, cleaned ceilings and beams, and the bedroom is getting an old door fitted properly. Richie is dedicated to old buildings and has brought a passion and knowledge to the project. I admire his dedication to the old materials and find myself protecting him from the consensus for a rapid conclusion to this renovation. He and I agree on everything concerning the proper materials for restoration. If anything, he is more willing to take the more painstaking, authentic approach. His work is a masterful mix of perfection and correctness. It's inspiring since I thought I was alone in my zeal for authenticity. We are using hydrated lime and sifted sand for our final plaster and it takes a lot more work to prepare than the bags of pre-mix available at the local yard; but the result is very similar to the original work we are repairing.
     We are working here because one month ago the plaster wouldn't set on the floor below. It was below freezing. Now, one month later, I'm removing my long johns before the job, or winter, is finished. But, like the job, winter isn't finished. Marzo e pazzo.