Our two acre field in rural Rutland was an originally an investment decision based around Equine care. 

The field sits on what was an old iron quarry, adjacent to a fishing lake, an abandoned playground site and the village cricket pitch. No permanent structures can be built on this land without planning consent, so our field shelter and food store was constructed built on giant skids, enabling it to be moved if necessary.  

I would like to say a crack team of experienced shelter consultants came and assembled this structure in a seamless and highly organised manner much akin to a Grand Designs type project. The reality had seen me helping the bloke building it on day two at 11 o’clock at night  lit by van headlamps from the adjacent carpark. So my first experience of building on our field was not without its issues.

With miniature shetland ponies replacing the much heavier and more space hungry highlands, we could now contemplate enjoying the field as a place of tranquillity and relaxation. Somewhere to sit and survey our domain became the focus of our discussions. 

There was an ideal corner from where it would be possible to see in all directions, and watch Ted, Anne and their daughter Teeny Weeny graze contently. For me this was a great solution to my wife’s equine addiction – she could still enjoy the ponies as pets but without the fear and stress and possible fatality of riding. It would also give us the large garden we lacked at home and would transform our relationship with this space.

Since we couldn’t build a fixed structure a second hand caravan was an option; however as a vertically gifted individual (6’7 on a good day) I was less keen on this. The structure might also have to double up as a food store and additional shelter if necessary, so we started to look at summerhouse / field shelter options. Since this would likely replace our usual vacation to France, funds could be found to purchase a quality build-it-yourself type kit and have it constructed on site with the help of a local builder. Again the structure would have to sit on large skids so if asked we could prove that it was moveable.

Having selected a suitable design (by which I mean one Liz was happy with) a delivery date was chosen when I could take the morning

Andy in his digger

or afternoon off and direct the lorry to the site. Next, we had a local builder, Andy, turn up and start to level the ground on which the cabin would sit with a small tracked digger thingy. We would use a half ton of hard standing to ensure there was a level drainable base. The work took most of a wet Saturday in April, with a site in the most sheltered corner of our field chosen. The following weekend was earmarked as ‘B’ day -the big build. Delivery would be Friday afternoon.

When the delivery vehicle turned up it was a massive articulated lorry and our cabin was one of three kits loaded on its back. I was really concerned it wouldn’t fit even fit down the lane, but with reversing alarms beeping and pruning a few low hanging branches here and there along the way, the vehicle arrived at the field gate. Pneumatic legs were deployed and with consummate skill the driver-come-crane operator deposited the ton of wooden parts just outside the gate to the field. 

Crap! This was as far as he could get it, and we would have to now unpack the whole kit and move it by hand into the field and then cover with a large tarpaulin. This took us about an hour of sold graft and we came to see that the cabin was in fact like a giant Ikea wardrobe kit. Flatpack nightmare! Only Andy’s bravado and confidence from the week before would get me through this one!

Sure enough, on Saturday morning at 9am work began. My son Dan, a trained architectural technician, was on route to assist, but to begin Andy and I surveyed the array of different components and the instructions provided and tried to decipher this puzzle that was part Gordian Knot part Davinci Code. 

Dan and Liz getting stuck in

Whilst providing incredible details on some parts of the construction, the pamphlet was also incredibly vague about others. Much head scratching, theorising and a great deal of swearing later (architectural technician not withstanding) construction began in what we hoped was the correct manner. Slowly the floor and walls took shape, and once the outline was confirmed construction began to move rapidly. 

Even so there were some tricky moments; installing widow units, getting the doors to fit and close. By Sunday lunchtime, the majority was up and looking pretty good. Andy was a very interesting character to work with and did the majority of the work; I don’t want to take credit as all Dan and I did mostly was hold things, cut a few bits of timber and nail the floorboards into position. By Sunday afternoon I was busy treating the timber exteriors and varnishing the floor inside.

This would provide a warm and dry vantage point to watch the wildlife in the field, birds, foxes, rabbits, ponies and mental cocker spaniels. It could also be a place we could stay in overnight, with enough room for a camp bed or couple of sleeping bags. We could now stay and spend time in our field rather than just work there.

Before I can begin to relate the tale of the cabin that isn’t yet in the woods, I feel it necessary to explain some history of the site from my perspective.

My wife Liz is one of those unfortunate people afflicted with a life-threatening condition form a young age. Her ailment is called equine addiction. Yes, from when we first met, Liz’s other main passion (hopefully I count here) was riding. For those not in the know, riding, whilst tremendously rewarding and enjoyable, can also be time and resource consuming and rather dangerous. Across the land casualty departments will be full of sports injuries at the weekend, and a good proportion of these will be riders.

Throughout the early years of our relationship horses were a big feature of our lives, and I too did succumb to the bug for a while. Horseback really is a marvellous way to see and enjoy the countryside. Horse ownership is as costly as you would imagine, and full or even partial livery of one or two horses can be like a small mortgage. Rutland has a long equine heritage – just look at the county sign, two interlocking horseshoes – so we were looking for the most cost-effective method to home our two highland ponies, Monty and Maisy.

When a field came up for sale in our village just five minutes’ walk from our house, the offer proved too good to refuse. The saving in livery fees would easily cover the additional mortgage, and we would also have an asset. And so it was that we came to purchase a small two acre parcel of land adjacent to a fishing lake on one side, and what was at the time the village playground.

For a couple of years, the horse field was, for the most, a practical area where horses were kept safely, and where the field mostly meant work in one kind or another. A horse shelter and food store was constructed, and hay was delivered in autumn and winter to keep the highlands fed. 

There was of course always what came out the other end to contend with. Affectionately this is known as Poo-picking (almost as if you are being selective about the process). Somehow this process came to be one which I owned for the most part. I would often perform the necessary task whilst Liz was out riding. The field was seen more as a chore than a place of tranquillity or enjoyment, although to be fair, Monty and Maisy were both lovely ponies. Still, there was always work to be done – moving electric fences, treating fence posts, repairing shelters partially destroyed when a half tonne horse rubs their itchy bum on it etc.

And so it might have continued this way except for an eventual realisation and change of heart by my wife early in 2018. Following the latest near brush with death (won’t go into the story of air ambulances, ruptured spleens etc.) Liz realised that perhaps she should retire from riding the ponies on the grounds of self-preservation. So, the question now would be – what could we do with the highlands, and the field?  

At this point I should mention that our house has a very very small garden, and with two lively cocker spaniels the field was proving useful as a destination for a walk and a safe place they could run around. If we were to keep the field, how would we control the grass? I certainly didn’t fancy mowing two acres every week – give me poo picking anytime over that! But then fate intervened. Maisy’s breeder had always expressed an interest in buying her back, and would take Monty too. In exchange she had three miniature shetland ponies who could be sent in part exchange.

And so in early 2018 the deal was done and we obtained Ted, Anne and Teeny Weeny. Monty and Maisy moved to Cumberland to a massive estate with other Highlands and a life of bliss.

But for Liz and I, this swap also meant we now had a field that didn’t have to be just for the ponies. We could now use the field as a place not just of work, but as a place we could enjoy; the garden we didn’t really have at home. There would still be work to do,  but now we could think about how we could enjoy our little piece of England on our doorstep.