Notes from the second-year cut

The rods that go on to make the best hurdles are almost never the ones that look impressive standing in the bed. They are the quiet, even lengths at the back of the stool — no side shoots, no kinks, no rush of growth in a wet July.

I have started keeping a bundle from each bed by the shed door for a fortnight before it is worked, mostly so I can watch how it dries. Rods that stay supple after ten days will take a tight corner without splitting.

Cutting order matters more than the calendar does. The low, wet end of the third bed always breaks dormancy a fortnight late, so it goes last, and the bundles from it are marked with a red tie before they ever reach the brake.

None of this is written down anywhere useful. The people who taught me kept it in their hands, and the only way I have found to keep it is to work through a whole bed in one go and pay attention to what the rods are telling me.

Most of what I have learned about sorting a bolt came from getting it wrong in the first winter: the small decisions matter more than they seem, and the good ideas turn up when I stop actively trying to have them.

A bed pays for itself in about four seasons if you keep the stools low and resist the urge to take everything in a single winter. The rods you leave standing are not waste; they are next year's straight lengths.

Ties are the other thing nobody warns you about. Twine slips, and a slipped bundle will dry crooked in a night. I use a wet rod twisted back on itself, which costs one rod per bolt and saves ten.

So the working list for this month is short: finish the low bed, re-lay the drying rack so air moves through it, and stop opening the shed door every afternoon to check on rods that are doing perfectly well without me.