So the day starts at 0915 when we meet up in the communal room to sit in a circle, hold hands for a while and tune in, following by 'checking in' and telling how everyone how we are feeling today. This morning t'other Paul had baby Finlay with him and couldn't join in as his wife had gone over to Oban earlier this morning.
After the first circuit, the residents tell us what they plan to do that day and the helpers they need. So the Monday choice was candle polishing, cooking, gardening and weeding, digging, picking Rhubarb with Orlando or logging. Roger did complain that he had lost his measuring stick and was worried if it had ended up as kindling.
We all got concerned but not quite sure the hell what a measuring stick would look like before it could have disappeared into our Rayburn.
The candle polishing seemed quite popular, but I decided real men don't polish candles, my second choice, picking rhubarb with Olando quickly got snapped up naturally.
So logging for me with Roger, across the water on Mull, for the morning. Within no time I was sitting in the trailer as we drove across the sands, tide out, gazing at the herons, sand-pipers and terns. Even the cows were in on the action finding something of interest amongst the seaweed.
I discovered that logging is great fun, but extremely physical and hard work, we found the measuring stick and it does indeed helpfully avoid losing some of one's fingers to the chainsaw as it cuts effortlessly though the logs.
Whilst Roger operated the chainsaw, I lugged the logs to the trailer behind stacking them to avoid a bumpy trip back across the beach.
Now those logs get heavier as time goes on, some roll down onto the beach, quickly getting aerobic heart and lungs, tuned by too many parkruns, kicked into easy action.
On a roll as we measured, marked, cut and carried logs for the morning with a needed break for tea of course and recovery.
Thank god for the that chocolate and flask of tea Roger bought before we kicked off again for the next round of labouring.
The sunny weather quickly turned to heavy hail, another timeout sheltering under a fisherman's boat on the beach waiting for the noisy hail to stop.
I quickly discovered that the size and order you stack logs into the trailer matter if they are going to fit and survive the journey back.
I was wearing ear-protectors, a visor and hat, so whilst the chainsaw is buzzing one works on in splendid meditative isolation whilst the body just does its stuff.
Two hours and the trailer is full up, enough for a week of logfires on the island apparent.
Of course when you sling another log into the fire to heat the water, radiators and room, you don't always think about how that log got to be there.
One of the benefits of Erraid is that you do stop taking everything for granted and community life is only possible, comfortably so, if every consumable has its own story and adventure.
Want to see what four hard physical man-hours of work looks like gentle reader?
But it's noon and time to head back to the island for lunch and I must admit I have never worked up such an appetite and enjoyed the company of others and food so much as we swapped stories of our morning out and about on the island pulling weeds or rhubarb with Orlando and polishing candles.
Now it's over to young Ewan & Roger to spend another couple of hours splitting these logs into segments small enough to fit into stoves.
Load the cut logs into a wheel-barrow and lug it up the hill to each cottage leaving each a supply for the next few days.
Now you must be wondering by now what happened to all that sawdust Roger and I generated on Mull this morning cutting a trailerfull of logs?
Well spotted if you have.
So where did you think all that sawdust in the compost toilets came from?
