Growing Your Own

It has been 6 years since we moved from Coventry to begin what we hoped would be a self-sufficient life.  We wanted to buy a house outright and not pay a mortgage.  Pay off our overdrafts and live within our means. Well.... old habits die hard.  But we have stuck to our dream of growing our own food.... it doesn't last all year, it takes time of course, but it does supplement the supermarket shop and there are weekends when we are very nearly self sufficient (damn those chocolate cravings...)

When I was little my Dad subscribed to a weekly magazine called 'Grow Your Own'.  He collected each issue in a 1970's brown binder and built 2 polytunnels in the garden.  That summer, I was introduced to a new world, an alternate climate with the strong smell of tomato leaves and courgette plants like something from 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'.  The atmosphere in that tunnel still comes back to me regularly in dreams, I'm not sure what significance it has but its had a lasting effect.
Since then I have always wanted to get a polytunnel - finally, 6 years after moving to our own home, we have got one!

Inside the polytunnel

Apart from my Dad's magazines my past experience of 'growing my own' was in our garden and greenhouse in Coventry and later on our alotment (which also features often in my dreams - for some reason I keep going back there years later to see what still might be growing...)

The garden path in Coventry, tulips on the left, leeks on the right.

The alotment was an invaluable place to learn hands on, thanks to all the retired people who now worked full time on their plots. I must have been listening because the first harvest from the alotment was abundant and delicious.

Growing in the Outer Hebrides however is quite a different game. There are a number of additional pests that we encountered which weren't native to the Midlands, first and foremost sheep, then cows and by my own doing, chickens. The chickens were our own to take responsibility for, but the cows and sheep were from next door and harder to come to terms with.

The first thing we put in, back in 2009, was our 'poo bed'.  I had been reading a book on permaculture - a way of growing where the idea is to work alongside nature; rather than trying to constantly tame and shape it, you can put in less effort by going with nature's flow.

I shuttered off a large section of  ground in the old hay drying area on the croft - it has 3ft walls and provides some good shelter from the worst of the gales.

Then I lined the base of the raised beds with old newspapers, wheelbarrowed over from the shop accross the road.  The idea is that instead of digging over a matted grassy area, you put a layer of weed retardent down first, then fill it with dung and plant potatoes into plugs of soil that sit within the manure. The you cover the whole thing in either more soil, or in my case, bags and bags of grass clippings dropped off by a local garden maintenance firm.

The result is odd looking but it saves a lot of digging.

Potatoes growing through the grass clippings mulch

 It worked very well indeed. the mulch retains the moisture which potatoes need a lot of.

When the plants have flowered its supposed to be the right time to dig them up.

You don't need to turn the soil over completely once you've got all the potatoes out, because it will all rot down, and the paper will biodegrade to make a good nutrient rich patch again next year.

It is such a wonderful feeling digging up potatoes, like funding golden nuggets.

Laying the potatoes out in the sun to dry

The potatoes nearly didn't happen at all though, due to an infestation of cows at an early stage.  I had set up the raised bed, planted the potatoes and covered it all in grass clippings. I had put together a fence from, here's the error, old fence wire and posts and the smell of silage wafting accross to next doors field must have been too much for the old dears.  As soon as I popped inside for a well earned cup of tea, they nipped through the gap between us and next door and were in like a shot.  They walked through my fence as if it wasn't there and I returned to the patch 20 minutes later to see them chomping down a large mouthful of grass clippings and seed potatoes each.
There is a reason we have gun laws in this country, that afternoon I nearly made a whole lot of beef burgers. 

The next day Mark put up a proper fence for me.


 After the initial teething trouble, the poo bed worked well for other crops too.

Courgettes and onions did well with its rich mulch protection.

Just as things were growing well we fell victim to the next infestation.  I had planted runner beans, sweetcorn and strawberries in beds surrounding the poo bed.  When I found next doors sheep in there one day, the air turned blue.  It looked as though someone had been at everything with a strimmer. They had completely mascerated the sweetcorn and just left the stalks

Sheep damage, note they left the rhubarb alone, the leaves are poisonous to them - shame

I had been so looking forward to runner beans, simply boiled and covered in real butter.  The sheep beat me to it.

Runner has beans

In Coventry the men at the alotment built huge runner bean walls, like something from the world war trenches.  There was such a glut of them every year you grew tired of them.... until one day you just can't grow them.


To be honest, while we still managed to get a harvest from some things, that year was a huge knock to our confidence of growing.  We had hoped we could get straight into the soil before tackling the larger, harder problems of fencing on the croft. We had learned the hard way that sheep are evil, they can jump old fences and the only way to help yourself is to barricade with barbed wire and 6ft posts!

Fencing, you can't have enough of it

After that we stuck to growing outdoors, but under cover.  the community skips prove to be a valuable resource for anyone used to an alotment style of growing, where any old bit of tat can be put to good use.

Old bed frames proved to be the most effective. Especially when they were thrown away next to the packaging plastic that the new bed's mattress came in!  We have quite a few of them after regularly keeping an eye on the community skip, they are great for courgettes.

Pallets also prove to be effective sheep protection.  This potato box had netting over the top to keep the chickens off, then when it came to harvest time you just pull down the walls and the potatoes fall out. It doesnt look pretty I know, but I do functional gardening, I'm not bothered about aesthetic!

 In 2012 I did more potatoes in the pallet pen and for the first time broad beans.  They benefit from the shelter of the pallet walls, but still get enough sunshine to grow.

Turnips under a bed frame cloche

At last we had done enough fencing to <mostly> keep the sheep out.  It has taken a lot of swearing and realisation that sheep will wait until you have grown something before they show you where your weaknesses are. But finally we have started to get our harvests back up to an alotment level.

2013 is the year of the Polytunnel though....we are hoping for great things.....

Life on 2 legs

Writing something about not having a car, is a little daunting knowing that there are 2 groups of audience - those with a car and those without a car.  The likelihood is that, if you have never learned to drive, the following article will be blatantly obvious and possibly a little crazy sounding. But if on the other hand you have once had a car, it is likely that you will always have continued to have a car.  Once you've had the liberty of your own transport, you rarely go back.

Once upon a time, my brand new car - only 16 miles on the clock

From 2012, what the Mayan's forecast as the end of the world, I found myself at the end of the world as I had known it.  All our vehicles (and we had certainly got through a few) had given up the ghost, we had no money for another one and were left with no other option than the bus. Not only this, but an infrequent bus service which only goes in the town direction once in the morning and once in the afternoon, and vive-versa.  Not to mention the times when you need to go in a different direction at a different route to the bus - it was going to be tricky.

Mark's 1st landy - all purpose vehicle

The obvious bonuses of not being mobile were purely financial.  First I noticed the monthly direct debit for insurance disappeared, leaving me £40 a month better off - well, that really adds to the supermarket budget.
Next it was the lack of impending doom every 6 months when the road tax was due - our car tax always seemed due the month before Christmas - suddenly I could buy a few presents earlier and felt a lot more organised and in control of the big event.
And then of course there was the annual crisis of the MOT.  That unknown figure that lay lurking ahead, was it just windscreen wipers, or was it welding....

I really felt a huge weight off my shoulders when the monetary obligations were removed.

Mark's 2nd landy - fun, except for the repairs bill

So of course that meant I was now relying on the bus - it doesn't sound so bad? Surely?

But;

1) I get travel sick.
The way the buses on Lewis work, we have a small mini-bus with about 12 seats that runs around to all the villages in south lochs, and then connects with a coach on the main spinal route through the island.  I have many bad memories of these 1970s style coaches, with that strange smell of upholstery and the way they bounce around if you sit at the back.  I won't mention a long school trip from Essex to North Wales which pretty much sealed the travel sickness bug in me for life, but the coach hurdle was the first thing to overcome.

The main route bus from Leverburgh, Harris to Stornoway, Lewis

2) Other people are not always nice.
As well as the financially car-less, the bus also caters for people who cannot drive for other reasons - such as they are drunk. There is nothing that you can say to take away the unpleasant and lewd behaviour of a fully grown man who should know better and probably might when sober, but for now is sat in a tight space with you. Enough said <shudder>. 

3) You have to carry all your shopping around with you.
Thankfully our local supermarket operates a 'you shop we'll drop' service, whereby you can fill your trolley and they will deliver it all home for you the  next morning.  However, there are always other things you want to buy whilst in the consumer capital, and unless you have rock climbing arms and fingers, carrying the bags is an unfortunate downside to just throwing everything in the boot of the car.  

However, having outlined the worst case scenarios I can also include the following.

Bus travel is preferable to car travel because:

1) You get to meet new people.
Apart from the stinky alcoholics, bus travellers also include friendly old people.  The best way to get over any windey-road travel sickness is to have a nice chat with someone who has lived a long and full life.  After a while you get to know how to pick your seat to make the journey much more bearable.

The Stornoway to Tarbert coach passing through Aline

2) You're saving the planet.
You no longer need to feel guilty about adding to rising CO2 levels as you speed your lonely way into town.  It is far more cost effective and environmentally friendly to fill one vehicle with 20 people, than to put 1 person in 1 vehicle. No brainer.

3) You hear all the latest gossip.
Even if you're not talking to anyone, bus seats are near enough to each other to garner all the local news from your fellow travellers. Its a bit like putting your status updates on as 'Public'.

4) People get to know you too.
In a small and well established community, new comers to the bus stop are often viewed with great interest. When you whizz through the village in your car, people can only speculate.  Once you're one of the crowd, people find out exactly what you are like, and even forgive your travel sickness rudeness on occasion too. 

5) Its cheaper.
If its just you, the bus is far cheaper than a round trip in the car.  There is a lot of freedom to be had by saving money. A mark of a civilised society is one where its citizens chose to travel by public transport, not because they can't afford a car..

Small Harris bus and view

6) A bus journey is the perfect place to daydream.
As a car owner you are always the driver and rarely the passenger.  There is such a fabulous time to be had gazing out of the window of a warm bus at the beautiful scenery of Lewis.  I have solved the problems of the world while my mind is rocked soothingly.  If you step on the bus with the right attitude, it will take you to new places.

So I'm not saying I will never own a car again, but I feel I have spent too much of my life worrying about and spending money on a lump of old metal.
A car has given me freedom, but a ball and chain at the same time.

Nowadays, if Ken Kesey was to ask, I am definitely on the bus. 

Ken Kesey's bus

Piiigs Iiin Spaaaace...

"Piiigs Iiin Spaaaace..."

It was the springtime of 2009 when we saw a card on the notice board of the Crofters: "Gloucester Old Spot X piglets, £45 each. Ring 880123" We had been dreaming for a while of getting something a little more involving than the chickens and decided that now was the time.
When we spoke to the owners, it turned out they were family of our neighbour - as if often the way on the island. He only had 2 piglets left, one of them was the runt of the litter, but if we didn't mind growing a slightly smaller pig he would let us have them both for £60.  Of course we didn't mind, this must be the nicest bargain we'd ever had!

Mark went get them in the van. He penned off an area in the back to keep them contained and 5 minutes after collection, was happy to have one of the piglets join him on the drivers seat.  The pen was not quite up to it and he spent the rest of the journey home trying to remove one or other of the piglets from his lap, under his seat, or down by the pedals.  Figuring by now that they were pretty wriggly squirmy little creatures, he realised why the crofter he'd collected them from, brought them out to his van in a large bucket.

Knowing the perfect instrument for the job, as soon as he was home he contained them at last in a broken water butt we had rescued from the community skip.

Ying & Yang piglets

 Austin and Morris had helped get a small area in the old blackhouse ready for them the previous day.  With a cozy depth of straw and the familairity of their bucket, we moved them in and were able to get a proper look at them.

Gloucester old spot cross piglets

  A sister and brother team, she was the bigger but it took a while to tell the difference between them.  We set up a viewing gallery and the eager audience moved in.

Pig installation

First activity, feeding time.  For some reason we hadn't yet bought any bags of pig nuts, so made a hearty porridge of scraps as this is what they'd been used to in their old home.  With a little coaxing of 'here piggy piggy..'

 

Here piggy piggy...

We were relieved to see that after their first meal in a new home, they managed to let their bellies rule their heads and settled down for a little nap.  Just like with a new baby, it was hard not to keep bothering them or waking them up again just to remind ourselves of how cute they were.  But we managed to tear ourselves away...for just a little while.

Over the next week or so we all had a lot of fun getting to know each other.

But there was work to be done. They wouldn't want to stay in their small home for very long so Mark and his Dad got to work on reconstructing an old sheep enclosure at the back of the blackhouse.

We made a partition wall and put down an insulating layer of polystyrene under a concrete floor.  There was a small drain at one corner to let any water run out.  It seemed sturdy enough for 2 pigs, no matter how large they would get, but as we discovered later on, they got very interested in the little drainage hole in the corner. I think they could smell air through it, and what started out to be a little bit of snout-ey investigating, soon turned into them eating large sections of the floor, polystyrene and all.  I had noticed that there were little white balls in their field and had assumed it to be something that was put in their feed.  Then when I realised they were eating the floor, it dawned on me that it was polystyrene balls, coming through their digestive systems completely in tact!

We made a roof from pallets, a freely available resource on the island as everything arrives on a pallet. There are plenty of haulagers in town who let people take them away for free, it is endless and welcome and only costs you in petrol to collect them.

Mark used off cuts of pallets to make a doorway and suddenly the place was looking more like a holiday cabin than a pig shed.

After securing their outdoor area, we sent the boys in to 'plump up the cushions; of this special piggy den.

Yep super cozy. Just as well because the piglets knew something was going on..

Let us out!

At last it was back in the bucket for them - they'd already grown enough that only one was allowed in at a time so the sheer joy of being in a bigger space was obvious with all their little skippety jumps and spins.  Mostly however, they once again settled into their new home by filling their bellies and taking a nap :@P

Mother hearth

 

Mother hearth - our primary relationship with fire.

For thousands of years our relationship with fire has been a constant, a part of everyday life.  As important to us as the landscape we have lived in, we are reliant on it as children are to their mother. 
In mesolithic times people were nomadic, hunter gatherers travelling from area to area with the seasons to feed from the best of nature's larder and making temporary fireplaces at every camp.
In neolithic times people became farmers, gleaning new knowledge from travelling or from invaders bringing new ideas. As the seasons changed around them they relied on permanent fireplaces.
Where I live, in the Outer Hebrides on the Isle of Lewis, there are plenty of ruined 'blackhouses' which give an insight into how people lived 200 years ago.  One thing that always remains standing is the enormous lintel above the hearth, and sometimes the chimney stack poking up from the tumbled walls.  It highlights the hearth as that constant, bridging time and reminding us of the importance of fire to human homes -  Home is where the hearth is. 

In my home we have a solid fuel stove, which provides all our hot water and central heating.  There is no flick of a switch or timer to put the heating on, it takes a morning ritual of scraping out last night's ashes and resetting the fire.  I have a special 'prayer cushion' that I use to do it and the action of kneeling before the fire often makes me think of women in history, performing the same ritual.  It is a bit like worship, it takes some preparation and learning through experience, of which sticks to use first, when to put the heavier fuel on and how much air to let in.  Then there is a moment that requires faith - when the fire catches on the paper and you wait to see if all the careful work will pay off and the scene before you becomes illuminated.
This moment of skill and hope is one that must span all of human history and across diverse cultures.  It interconnects us to our ancestors through time. It also links us to other cultures developing differently on other continents, but in the act of fire-making and the hope it carries with it, we are just the same.
As changes have taken place in modern western society, our relationship to fire is another connection to nature that is being taken away from us.
We programme a boiler to come on at designated times of the day, without our action, but within our control.  Our cooker gives the energy of heat but without the beauty of fire.  To relax we stare at the television instead of listening to our own thoughts in front of the fire.
But in addition to the on-demand systems we rely on, people have also rediscovered the luxury of a small weekend fire.  It does not require money, it requires time.  It is a simple pleasure from a little work.

On Lewis we are lucky to have abundant fuel on the doorstep.  A few thousand years in the making, the peat moors have been cut by generations of islanders.  Despite the rising costs of bought in fuel, peat cutting has dwindled in the last 50 years or so.  Oil boilers have become more commonplace than a kitchen rayburn and there are plenty of other jobs that also need doing on the croft.
The fire needs attention to keep it going, it is too easy to forget about it, whilst enjoying the heat coming out of the radiators, and suddenly the grate is cold and empty.
But this is also an important consideration that modern systems have lost.  Having to light a fire makes you stop and think - can I be bothered to go to all the trouble or shall I just put another jumper on?   With on-demand systems we have no responsibility for our fuel consumption, the programmer or thermostat does it for us.  'Out of sight, out of mind'. 

We began cutting the peat 3 years ago and are starting to feel akin with it now.  In the springtime, we go out to cut the turves from the top, and see what great fudgey slabs can be sliced from beneath the heather.  There are black seams that run through the ground, which burn hot like coal, otherwise it is the dark brown peat which burns slower but keeps the fire tinkering along.
We use a peat iron, to slice down from the top for 3 layers.  Then the tiles are laid out in the sun and wind to dry.  Nature helps us prepare our fuel, all we need to supply is the knowledge and the elbow grease.
The peat banks are so open that we can see the weather coming from a long way off.  We often get rained on by passing squalls then completely dried again by the wind and sun.  The sound of the skylark makes you feel as though you are a long way from anything man-made.  It is a time of very hard work, but such a great workplace.
Depending on the weather, the peats can be brought home at the end of the summer.  It is a process of many stages and it is hard work, but to see the fuel stacked up ready for winter gives us a feeling of security.

The smell of the peat burning when we first start putting the fire on, has become such a pleasure - at first it always reminded me of my mother having a bonfire in the Autumn, the smell of the burning ground.  Now it makes me think of my home.
Fire will always be a part of what makes me feel at peace - secure, enjoying simple pleasures and happy memories.   Like the thick stone walls of my house and the enormous lintel, I hope it will be a constant, forever.

(Submission to 'Earthlines' magazine 2013)

Birds of a feather

In light of the news that South Uist are employing a local 'Rent a Hen Project Officer', I thought I would write a guide to keeping chickens, on Lewis.

1. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
There are 2 ways to begin keeping chickens - hatch some yourself, in an incubator, or order some from the Crofters.
Whilst the excitement of setting up your incubator, monitoring the temperature and humidity and waiting for 28 days to see what hatches is unmissable at some point in your life, there is also a special glee involved in picking up a cardboard box, tied with baling twine, from the back of Lewis Crofters and seeing your first hen squatting inside.
Mr. Macdonald (and yes, he is old) is also known as the Skye man. Just give him a ring and he will bring across as many hens as you need, boxed, in the back of his van.  It is the perfect start to keeping chickens.  And don't forget to talk to them all the way home, they need to get to know you too.

Chickens from the Skye man  - Lohman-Browns, an all purpose hi-bred

2. Where will they live?
Basically, anywhere.  The Skye man's chickens have lived in a huge barn all their life, and are incredibly docile. They would like a perch to sleep on, and in a few weeks will need somewhere to lay there eggs (yippee) but chickens have been kept in old cars, B&Q sheds, blackhouses, hutches and even fancy purpose made coops.  In time however, you will need to clean their home, so flat surfaces are preferable. The will make a mess everywhere, but nowhere more so than under their perch, while they are relaxing...

A nesting box made from an old drawer - they won't mind so long as its comfy

3. What will they eat?
The crofters stocks Poultry grain and Layers mash though people also like to make up their own chicken food. They will also live on scraps from the kitchen (though you should not give them meat) and whatever they can forage for outside, but if you would like to make the most of their laying potential I would suggest layers mash, mixed with water to make a chicken porridge - they love it.

4. What will they do all day?
Free range hens have a much better time that those kept in a run or cage.  But hens that come from the Skye man don't know any different so it is up to you.  Their day will generally be taken up with foraging for food, catching some warmth from the sun and preening their feathers.  They also like to have a dust bath, which gets rid of parasites and dirt, and spend a bit of time socialising and sorting out the pecking order.

5. Do I need a cockerel?
If you just want to keep hens for eating eggs you do not need to get a cockerel too. Though he would do a very good job at keeping a large group of ladies in order by keeping an eye out for any dangers and generally making himself useful to them.

6. When can I expect to get some eggs?
You buy chickens at 'Point of Lay' - this means they are 18 weeks old, and can start producing eggs.  Do not expect them to lay an egg on the first morning you have them though - they like to have time to settle in and feel comfy and safe before they start to lay for you.

7.  How long will they live?
They continue to lay eggs for about 5 years, more so at the beginning of their career, but they will live for longer than that.  Unlike other pets, if you find you do not get on with your chickens or can no longer keep them, you can always eat them.

8. What happens if they get broody?
If you would like to expand your flock and have invested in a cockerel, a broody hen is the biggest excitement of the year.   She will most likely sit tight on one of your nesting boxes and make some very different sounds if you try to lift her off.  Make a seperate broody box where she can be given some peace and quiet away from the others for 28 days and let her brood.  You can put food out for her and she will likely get off her nest once a day to have something to eat and drink and stretch her legs, but other than that she will do all the work herself and can be left to it.

The best thing about keeping chickens

There really is not a lot to keeping hens, any idiot can do it.
Welcome to a lifetime of tasting the best eggs, with the brightest yolks you will ever see and of great amusement along the way.