Like most other sea lochs on the west coast Loch Fyne was formed thousands of years ago by the action of thousands of tons of ice scraping away as it slowly slid down from higher ground. The weight and thickness of the ice caused it to make grooves in the ground beneath it, so deep that the water that now fills the loch is over one hundred and fifty metres deep in places This is a feature that is hard to imagine when we look out of our window across to the hills on the opposite side of the loch just a few miles away. But because it is a sea loch, connected to and sharing its water with the Atlantic Ocean, it brings with it a milder climate than one might expect at our latitude and one of the effects of this is that our winters are largely ice free. When snow does fall on the hills around us it will generally melt away quickly as it is replaced by rain. Sure, there have been days when a layer of ice has covered our pond but so far this winter it has lasted no more than two days before melting.
This mild climate does not mean we can live without some form of heat in the home. Some years ago we spent the whole winter in a small village in a mountainous area of northern Italy Here too we experienced very little snow, perhaps largely because we were much closer to the equator and the mountains themselves were not far from the sea. We befriended a local man (who spoke fluent French, which made it easier for us) who once proclaimed that firewood warms you up at least five times. So let us see if I can remember the steps...
To start (1) a tree is felled and cut into pieces so that they can be moved. These are then loaded onto a wheeled vehicle - in his case a trailer towed behind his strange two-wheeled tractor - and then unloaded nearer to home (2). Processing the wood happens in two stages. First it is cut into 'rounds' then these are split along the grain to make logs which can fit inside a stove once they are dry (3). The logs are stored, usually beneath the house in a purpose built cellar where moisture within the wood gradually dries out. From here, however, they must be carried up flights of narrow stone stairs, these being a feature of the houses built in this part of Italy (4). We were living in an apartment on the top floor of the building and I clearly recall the effort involved in this particular part of the process. Finally (5) the wood is burnt on the fire and as we bask in the warmth we temporarily forget the effort it has taken to get here.
To date we have not had to cut down any trees to make into firewood for use in our multi-fuel stove but we did clear some branches from the trees growing beyond our boundary, overgrowth that was threatening to fall into our garden, and once cut up these spent more than six months or more resting in our wood store before we began to use them as fuel indoors. More recently we were given some demolished wooden fencing pieces that again have been cut up ready for use and just recently, our efforts helping our friends move house have resulted in some lengths of wood from demolishing a set of bunk beds coming our way. These need little work apart from removing as many screws as possible but just as in Italy, there are always a few steps involved before wood is ready for the fire.
As I write we are recovering from the latest storm, two days of fierce winds with gusts exceeding sixty miles an hour, this being followed by days of absolute calm where the damp air hangs over our village from dawn till dusk. We venture outside to see what damage might have occurred and are pleased to find very little. One of the compost bins has lost its lid, this being returned by a kind neighbour who was also doing a garden inspection, and the refuse bins which we keep beside the road, each one securely tied down with a short length of rope, had clearly been straining at their leashes but thankfully no worse. One of the lids on these had flipped open allowing rain water to collect inside but this was soon emptied out. We still have a roof on the house, no sign of lost tiles, and our polytunnel and the garden sheds have also stood their ground. The exposed position of our home gives us fine views but it also means it takes a battering from time to time and we are ever grateful to the builders who made it so strong.
As part of the garden inspection I venture beyond our boundary fence to see what the heavy rain has done to the burn that runs there. Surprisingly little water is flowing down it, which makes me think that the dense vegetation must absorb most of it, releasing it again in small amounts. 
Some of that water will be contained within these tiny fungii which have emerged from beneath a leaning tree trunk, a small burst of colour in the otherwise dull, dank world beneath the rhododendrons and the gorse.
As Christmas approaches the damp weather continues. The view from the living room window has deteriorated somewhat - a wall of white mistiness hides the opposite side of the loch from us - and outdoors everything drips. There is little to tempt us out there but at least the wind has moderated for a while. Our garden has a large puddle - localised flooding - at the lowest point and even our friendly pheasant has deserted us. 
'Phil', as we know him, had been spending his days with us, pecking at the ground beneath our bird feeders and when the rain came on heavy he sheltered beneath the mahonia bush. We felt honoured to have him with us and delighted to offer him sanctuary from those that might have had other ideas for him at this time of year.
No comments:
Post a Comment