From the croft, with sawdust in our hair
Every croft has a moment when someone says, "How hard can it be?" This is ours.
We bought the stable in February. It was a simple plan: buy stable, put on croft, admire. What we hadn't accounted for was that you need planning permission to keep horses. Cows, we gather, would have sailed through. A cow may stand in a field and look unbothered, but a horse apparently needs paperwork. So we waited, and then waited some more, while the stable sat in Yorkshire, presumably enjoying itself.
When permission finally came through, the stable had to travel the length of the country to reach us. We won't dwell on the logistics. Let's just say that getting a large wooden building from Yorkshire to the Highlands is a character-building exercise, and we have a great deal of character now.
The Day It Arrived
Naturally, it arrived on the one day the husband was away. The lorry turned up, the stable did not unload itself, and I stood in the yard with the quiet confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea what to do next. Thankfully, a local farmer appeared and helped, with the calm of a man who has seen this sort of thing before and expects to see it again. Our thanks to him, and to the Highlands, where somebody always seems to have the right machine and the good grace not to laugh.
The stable with its roof off, and the dogs on inspection duty.
Concrete: A Love Story (It Isn't)
Next came the concrete base. We would love to tell you the pour went smoothly. We would also love to tell you we enjoyed it. Concrete does not wait for anyone, and it does not forgive. Let's say it was a day of rapid decisions and strong tea, and leave it there.
But look at that slab. Flat, grey and gloriously level, and the digger sits beside it as if it did all the work. (It did a lot of the work.)
The slab, and the digger looking rather pleased with itself.
The Wee Man and the Power Tools
Then the build began, and we gained a new member of the crew. Our wee man took to power tools with the enthusiasm of someone who has been told for years to put the drill down. Here he is with the nail gun, and here again with the drill, fixing timber to concrete like a seasoned professional. Wellies on, entirely focused. The grown-ups stood by in a supervisory capacity, which is a polite way of saying we mostly handed things over and tried to look like we'd planned it.
Nail gun, then drill. Health and safety was, we're told, very much on the scene.
A Whole New Roof
Some things are best done properly, so the roof came off and a complete replacement went on. For a while, the stable looked less like a building and more like a very large wooden ribcage. The trusses stood against the sky, the trees looked on, and we wondered whether we'd ever see a roof again.
Black stain on the walls, bare trusses on top. The ribcage phase.
We did see a roof again. And then came the paint. So much paint. A great deal of black stain went onto a great many boards, and slowly the stable stopped looking like a project and started looking like a place.
Where We Are Now
Today, the stable is wind and water tight, which in the Highlands is no small achievement. It looks, if we may say so, rather respectable. The matting is down and the doors are on, and inside is an empty stable, ready and waiting (once we've given it one last sweep).
Respectable, we think. A few spare planks still lying about, naturally.
Inside: dry, roofed and waiting for its first resident.
Next Up: Electrics
A stable with no lights is just a very large cupboard, so electrics are next. Since mains power isn't on the cards, we're looking at a solar or wind system. Wind we have plenty of. Sun, we'll see. If anyone has advice on new-fangled power for old-fashioned buildings, we'd love to hear it.
Part two will follow, and we'll be honest about how it goes. Possibly with more tea.
Until then, from the croft,
Croft & Cleo