Emptying the garden shed proved a fruitful decision. Out came some tools of use that could  be easily stored int the garage and into the rubbish pile were thrown all sorts of junk long rusted away or out of use. Emptying the weedkiller was easy, straight onto the bamboo I want to remove!

Although the shed was starting rot at the back it was the ideal space of a log stack cabin. Adding a shelf was easy, I adapted one of the old cupboard shelves and hey presto the log interior was made for the job. So of I went again, stumping up and down the garden, a small walk of half an acre long with my bags of logs until finally after some hours, the shed is not far off full. A most reassuring sight. By the time I’d finished it began to rain, so I was just in time. But there is more to do.

But we are on the road to tidiness in the forest.

a glorious tree in a nearby wood

A very generous and helpful neighbour who manages seven acres of woodland and fields, was more than helpful in offering to help chainsaw up several large messy tree trunks at the end of the garden. A cheerful character, armed with his enviable power tool, wearing no helmet or goggles or even gloves, whizzed his way through endless array of logs and branches of all sizes. The result was a much smarter woodland area and the beginnings of a tidier shady garden dominated by a handsome oak tree. Still quite a bit of work to do, but when the worst is under control the fun bit of building shacks and huts can begin.

Equally exciting was another discovery. I had noticed at the bottom of some built in cupboards upstairs some tiles clearly denoting a former hearth. As my mother is unlikely to using her tennis shirts or sports clothes, much of which were long past the sell by date, some I chucked into recycle bags. Other useful clothes I put in cleared out divan draws which had been wastefully stuffed with 60s blankets, equally unappealing. So with a quick turn round I found I had no need of a full middle section of shelving to a rather plain and uninteresting set of built in cupboards. Once emptied I began a process of discovery, rather like archeology really. Removing the shelves wasn’t too difficult, and finally a damp thin piece of board at the back. And there awaited the glory of an untouched virtually miraculous 1930s pink mottled tiled fireplace! The surround had been wrenched off, but being wood it will easy to copy and replace. The important bit was the inset of tiled surround

another section of an inspiring log shack round a tree.

With hope in my heart but thinking it might be too good to be true, I embarked on my own bedroom cupboards in the same fashion. But it was not to be, having removed the back board, I found a miserably sad sight. A brick wall with nothing there except a yawning black hole revealing the former glory of the now absent tiled fireplace. Only the hearth tiles remained. Oh well, we can’t have everything, but at least these things can be copied and revitalised. But I must count my myself, three out of four original fireplaces isn’t bad at all.

a glorious revelation, digging up the past in the bedroom

Inspired by a good friend and neighbours who have created uniquely beautiful log shack cabin, a young boy’s dream…..the problem had to be solved. Chainsaws and electric gadgets have a limited life span, so I was nervous of investing in that, quite apart from my inexperience. Some research led me to a wedge and a heavy sledgehammer made for the purpose. Much to my amazement, after some bashing the top of the wedge into some modest size chunks of log, it really did split them into two exposing the interior! The JOY, the achievement! At last I can harvest my own wood and heat a room for nothing, after of course an initial outlay for suitable tools.

Pulling heavy logs from one end of the garden to other is also warm work, perhaps a trolley is the answer rather than sacks….I don’t see myself managing all this when I’m eighty? I may have to resort to a chainsaw friend or get advice from the neighbour about managing it all. But with a new handsaw, possibilities are opening up.

Meanwhile more log shacks are developing….

After 35 years of being told both our fireplaces would not ‘draw’ my mother had firmly abandoned all hope of having a log fire. Perhaps our 1930s fireplaces were simply not good enough. But I had vague memories of a box of coal outside our kitchen door when I was small. My sister is a passionate creator of log fires, I love them but have a troubled relationship with fire in our house.

One house fire in my room was memorable:  I sneakily used the gift of a candle lamp as a bedside reading lamp. My parents had made a fatal mistake and had denied me an electric lamp so I wouldn’t read late into the night. Little did they appreciate the mind of a twelve year old, with an independent streak. My secret was going well until one night I got up and came back to find my bed on fire! What to do?? I rushed to my chest of draws to find heavy clothes to smother the bed but it was blazing too fast, I could now see the springs!

I decided I had to own up, calling to my mother I said ‘can you come up a minute!’ Not saying why at first! My mother didn’t take the bait and simply said ‘can you hold on a minute?’ I had to shout ‘NO, my bedroom’s on fire!’ ‘WHAT!’ she shouted.  The garden hose didn’t help either and we had to call the fire brigade, the room was a sodden smell of smoke and water for 6 weeks. With a new decor, I was finally given an electric bedside lamp!

The next episode was my mother make a rather large bonfire near the neighbour’s greenhouse, which being made of corrigated plastic, promptly melted into a weird shape, he was not pleased! She had to pay for a replacement.

Finally my mother also developed a mad habit, the classic cigarette smoker…….she was too lazy to find an ashtray upstairs in her bedroom, so she found old brown paper envelopes and put the old butts in them and then put those into the waste paper basket made of wicker! It was an accident waiting to ignite! But would she listen to my pleas, oh no it would be fine, she knew best! Not a mere daughter.

Well one afternoon my sister came, she and my mother were chatting in the living room after a while I began to smell a pleasant but unfamiliar smell of woodsmoke. I followed my nose which lead me upstairs half way up I could HEAR a roaring crackle……….WHAT was this I thought, I was scared.  I reached the top to find the basket was in full blaze and licking furiously up the side of a wooden chest of draws and had reached the picture rail. I had minutes to spare before it was out of control and reached the King bed and duvet.

Screaming we all ran upstairs, my sister chucked a towel in the bath soaked it and threw it onto the base of the fire onto the basket. Then we could tackle it well. But it was a close thing……….my mother had no excuse, no defence…….and we had a charred pile of sticks at the bottom and new carpet on insurance. Oh dear………

After all this though with the chimneys swept again, and decapped, we decided to try again. In spite of my mother’s implacable catalogue of failure. But low and behold, once swept and decapped, the fire has lit beautifully and the dining room is warm for the first time and a cosy room is taking shape.

Mummy was in good form and waved keenly at me with an endearing enthusiasm when she saw me. She is a darling and so cuddly and sweet and so changed. Brain damage is rather amazing, were it not for the physical limitations. The garden is grey and muddy so another good bonfire with all the Christmas paper will go well. I had some very generous and useful presents, perfume and cashmere gloves were tops, really lovely.  An evening Christmas turkey was an easy way to approach the big meal and after that with pudding and television, I was stuffed as a turkey by 11pm! I didn’t need to eat really on Boxing day. I just enjoyed drinking Baileys and cleaning the bathroom and doing washing and various domestic duties with classic FM in the background.

I was recommended a young man who was experienced, an hourly rate that well undercut the expense of buying equipment. So he arrived with his kit. I knew I had done the right thing. With a cup of tea, we marched down to the end of the garden and he made light work of buzzing out small chunks of wood for three large thick logs. And for the first time in several years I could walk through to the end of the boundary. I’m going to have enough wood for bonfires or home log fires for many years to come. In fact it makes me think that the next project should be to decap the chimney in our dining room fireplace and see if we can have another go and making it burn wood. That would provide free heating which would be much valued in these times of mindful economy!

I spent the afternoon and evening keeping my mother amused and together we tinkled on the keyboard singing carols at the nursing home Christmas party. She ate as keenly as ever. The manager liked my singing voice as I had to lead the carol singing and play the keys as best I could with absolutely no warning!

My mother chats merrily, a fantasy life of shopping and travel and an exciting love life reveals the liberation of her brain damage. It’s quite illuminating that someone who was fairly rigid and fixed in her ideas before a massive stroke, can become amazingly altered afterwards. If it were not for the physical disability, I would almost say it had some advantage! She is much more emotional and warm than before and she is very amusing and sweet to be with.

When I was younger, I would regularly squeeze out of the end of the boundary and explore the forest beyond. It is a mixture of forest and parkland, largely belonging to a neighbour further down the lane. All greenbelt it is fairly well protected from development. Sausages were waiting in the oven and with homemade cake, we had a productive day.

I shall have to make regular bonfires to clear a bit more, otherwise in a year the brambles will be back. I shall research some serious weedkiller!

Three bowls of apples are now elegantly sitting on tables waiting for a purpose. I suppose I shall have to make stewed apples or a crumble.

One small perk of a disastrous stroke is my mother has become much more affectionate. The brain trauma has made emotions far more warm and loving than before. Something I hadn’t really appreciated or known about before. It’s really incredible the way such brain damage can change the character quite considerably in some ways. An eye opener if that’s the phrase, on the mechanics of brain function. The muddles are hilarious though and make me laugh madly. She has two babies and six boyfriends and smiles flirtatiously with any man within eyesight no matter who he is! Age is no barrier to the mind!

The house is getting colder, autumn is lurking…..the boiler is serviced, at the ready, but hot baths do a better job of keeping me warm. A Cezanne inspiration is hitting me with watercolours of fruit to come, a luscious symbol of calmness and beauty. That plus the Degas and the autumn beckons with lots of fast production of art work.

A few days ago I was taken up in a small private plane to the Isle of Wight, what fun! But oh I had to concentrate hard to stop the airsickness. Having had this before, I knew what to do, and I just made the out trip fine and the back trip was even better. But there must be pills for this, because it would be nice to not have to think so hard about it. The view was terrific and the pilot was confidant and the weather was in our favour. I really didn’t realise how much air currents effect the ride.

Lots of good books coming out, the Degas catalogues, biographies and histories, all cosy fireside reading. And a temptation to sell ancient paperbacks gathering dust in the house to make space for more new delights.