Penn thanks WPS for role in securing Larmour Lands, describes initial homestead efforts
As is often the case when falling in love, we admired Beddis Valley from afar at first. The idea of actually getting to “live” in the valley called up feelings that many our age are forced to suppress these days. A route out of precarity? A sustained relationship with nature? A home to call one's own? “Be still, my beating heart.” Now that so much of Beddis Valley has been legally conserved, these are treasures we intend to share in thoughtful ways. Prior to having seen through our campaign with WPS to save the land, however, we would drive slowly past the lot and stare, mouth agape, at its splendour. Just look at it, we thought. What a wilderness to behold.
Disarmed by the pangs of joy and gratitude that consumed us after this new chapter formally commenced in September, we committed ourselves to daily work. Hour by hour, week by week, all the way through the summer and into the early autumn, we pulled up invasive plants, steel springs, broken glass (so, so much broken glass), rusted tins, scattered plastics, old TVs, bottles, tools, sinks, bicycles, beds; the list goes on. As is true of every old home, and particularly of farm land active before the introduction of communal waste processing facilities, the valley had its share of material inheritances. We called every cousin and friend available to help in the restoration process. That more than one showed up to help with a new baby on their hip is a testament to the multi-generational restoration project this farm has become—and will continue as.
After weeks of work, I asked my cousin's partner what we should call the land. “Gorsica,” she answered. This was a tribute to the mountainous piles of Scottish gorse—an opportunistic and devilish invasive known for its rigid needles—that had commandeered the land over the past decades. Even friends who had dealt with gorse before were dumbstruck by how entrenched it had become. Advice online said to cut any stem wider than a loonie. In some cases, we couldn't reach around a root stem with both hands. Even with a mini excavator hired, the process took weeks. Since gorse seeds can lay dormant for up to 70 years, our efforts to maintain Gorsica will be ongoing. We will continue to steward the many micro ecosystems that thrive here in partnership with WPS, the community on-island, and with new generations to arrive.
Our thanks go to Skye Larmour (and her kin), Jean Wilkinson (and all of WPS) and to Rodney Polden, Usha Rautenbach and the many generous hearts and minds out there who saw reason to preserve this land for future generations (of all species) to enjoy. Your donations made the protections possible. While we've not yet landed on a permanent name for the farm, we find ourselves between “Gorsica” and a phrase that comes to mind when sitting in the wetlands on a calm but rainy afternoon … “the sacred valley.”
— Jonnie Penn
