After the Peatslide at Uradale

Wednesday the 22nd of August 2012 will linger long in our memories as the day the flood came. After a night of thunder and lightning with heavy rain showers, just before rising time the heather moorland above the Farm began to float and tear under the sheer weight of water. It tore away the hill fences in its path, cleaned away an old croft house from its ancient foundations, carried off the Landrover and our little car, smashed in the house door and poured through our home leaving heather clods with their heatherbells still purple sitting in our livingroom. The whole family and friends laboured to a standstill to save what we could to keep the house habitable. Diggers were found to stabilise what Roan, 4 years old, keeps calling our ‘landescape’.

Now at nearly a month later, the grass is starting to peep out from underneath the cleared land, fences are being hammered back into shape, roads and bridges are mostly rebuilt, but the horrible stink of acidic peat still reeks off what’s left of our very own black flood.

Sue is out planting tree cuttings to replace all our lovely trees.

We need to start again with so much.

Do you know, the very first sound I heard the day after Nature got angry was our little Shetland Wren singing fit to burst its breast from what was left of its home. He hurled such beautiful melodious abuse at what could have obliterated him forever. He had no other place he wanted to be and he wanted everyone to know that he was still there and going nowhere.

Labels: Peatslide, Uradale Farm