Our not so imaginary neighbor, Iolo, continues to exact vengeance for the naive notion that we might have what it takes to be hill farmers. The inspiration for this character is, in reality, a humorous and generous man, but one who cannot bear to see things, that should be done, left undone. He, like us, is now ancient but his drive and energy are legendary.

Recently we have seen him anxiously eyeing our log pile — cut 9 years ago. Bill said, ‘I can see it is worrying him’, and well it might — all that useful timber edging over the limit of well seasoned into the realm of porous, wet and rotting, something should be done!

When I see one of the younger members of his family, I do something — I arrange for them to come with their tractor saw-bench and chop it all up so we can stack it in the dry for burning in the wood burner next winter — rates were discussed. ’Dad will want to supervise — it’s his kit but he’s not very well at the moment — we’ll arrange to come when he’s better’.

That was all Iolo needed — next day, shortly after a frosty dawn, we heard a strange noise, ‘That can’t be a night jar? It sounds like a distant chain saw?’

There he was, not a tractor in sight, but Iolo attacking our log pile like a man possessed. The worst thing about a chain saw is starting it — once roaring away only a fool would stop it — Iolo is no fool, so on he roared while, shamed, we carted the great cheeses down to the new wood pile and graded and piled them in the dry.

Later we re-possessed the shared log-splitter from Roger, next door, and after a refresher course and explanation of recent modifications we split the big ones — no splinters, no fingers removed!