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.
