Time Team
Farming Caerlaverock
How simple life is for our content flock of sheep, grazing lazily on the merse. They wander day and night from the village to the mudflats nibbling at all the grasses in between.
The saltmarsh is a tasty treat for them; all they need and all they want. They have no concern for farming and its harsh way of life, no worries for crops so exposed on this wild and wonderful coastline.
We are new to this area, but have chosen to settle here on the Solway Firth among its inhabitants of more than a thousand wildfowl. The geese arrive here in great number when the nights grow long and stay here until the lighter days of spring. I watch and wonder at their travels, fascinated by the lands I imagine they've seen, of even colder climes and icier winters.
The wading curlews, however, seem more at home here and I am forever envious of the feasts they make for themselves on the vast mudflats here at Caerlaverock. I love nothing more than to walk among them, trying not to disturb their meal as I take what shellfish I can to bring home to my mother far inland beyond the wet sands.
Back on drier ground we have cleared what land we can to grow our few crops and build our homes. With axes of polished stone my father and the other village men work hard each day to cut through the trees and bushes, slowly creating fields in which to sow our wheat and barley.
At night they sit smoothing their tools for a sharper edge while making plans of what to grow where and when. But even with their carefully crafted axes, sometimes the dense woods prove too much for the men. The thickest and largest trees we clear by burning, and what a sight this is to see.
As long as I can remember I have been both terrified and enthralled by the smell and ghostly roar of fire. Enchanted, I watch my father striking two pieces of flint together, letting the sparks set the grass alight and then my mother huddles all us children together as the fire builds and spreads, eating its way through the woods.
The land left when the fire has burned itself out is the best for farming, with its ash-rich soil perfect to fertilise the crops.
Yet there is still much work to be done. With the huge digging sticks, the villagers turn over the soil, swinging the sharp ends into the ground and using the weight of the stone tied to the stick to force it into the soil.
In this way and then with antler hoes we prepare the land for planting. At harvest time even the youngest child has a job to do, collecting all the wheat before a fierce sea storm can spoil it. With a heavy round stone I have already learned to grind the wheat by rubbing it back and forth over a flat stone. The meal we make is good and filling, yet still I watch those great travelling wildfowl, the waders and the sleepy sheep and wonder at how simple life can be here on the Solway Firth for some.