F=G(m1*m2)/(r*r)

An apple fell on my head yesterday. I paused for a moment in case it were to spark the formation of a ground-breaking advance in physical theory in my brain. It didn’t. I picked up the apple and put it in my wheelbarrow, where it nestled amongst hundreds of its compatriots. It’s apple harvest time and Pilsdon’s two orchards have had a joyously abundant growing season judging by the weight of fruit on the branches. 

I have become an apple processing specialist in the short time I have been back at Pilsdon Community. It’s a highly technical field that only those with the right “appletitude” (as we joke in the apple industry) can succeed. Whole books could be written on this subject but in essence what I do is take the apples from the tree (or beneath the tree for those which have already “descended”, i.e. dropped off) and then route them through to one of five possible end products.

First there are the Eaters, which are those placed on the meal tables. These are taken from the trees on an as-needed basis. Secondly there are the Storers, the really firm-skinned perfect fruit, which are placed in our outside store in stacked dimpled trays such that they do not touch each other - this prevents the spreading of rot. Thirdly there are the Cookers, i.e the tart varieties used for cooking, which we have been peeling, coring, quartering, blanching (i.e. dunking in boiling water to kill microbes) and then freezing for future use. Fourthly, the Preservers which are apples we make into some form of preserve. So far we have made apple and marrow spicy chili chutney, apple butter (a thick apple cinnamon spread popular in the States) and dried apple rings.  Finally, the most numerous category, the Juicers. This year, for the first time in living memory, we have decided to make our own apple juice.  We will be taking about 250kg of apples to a local cooperative’s apple press and pasteurising facilities on 11th and 12th November, and hopefully end up with about 200 bottles of delicious golden juice!

In the half-year that I’ve been away from Pilsdon, young River has grown from baby to small boy. He now walks, says a few words like “Mummy”, “Daddy” and “fire”, can identify parts of his body, and this morning has learned how to stroke the cat nicely instead of yanking its tail. I have recruited him as an apple harvester apprentice, so he follows me around in the orchard making random quality inspections of the apples in the wheelbarrow by taking a bite or two out of each.

Everyone else here has of course aged by the same amount but developed in less immediately perceptible ways. What has noticeably changed is the male/female ratio as the community currently has four women guests, more than at any time that I’ve been here. This is generally considered a good thing as the women don’t feel quite as outnumbered by the men and perhaps exert a beneficial influence on the community’s atmosphere. Certainly people are behaving more socially than last winter. Instead of retreating to their rooms after supper, small groups hang out chatting in the library or by the Aga, or impromptu musical gatherings occur by the piano. Last week we were treated to a few beautifully sung duets from the couple from the Bruderhof community who are volunteers here. And plans are afoot to start up an occasional series of evening talks, given by anyone who has a topic they want to share with the rest of us.

This to me is what community living is all about. Working together, eating together, sharing together, and making music together. Long may it continue here at Pilsdon.

House of Straw

Leaving my new home in Wales all packed up, awning removed and water drained from the pipes, I climbed into my Jimny and exchanged a few unpleasantries with the pheasant perched defiantly on the bonnet before embarking on the two hundred mile journey back to the community at Pilsdon in West Dorset. I have to trust that the wind won’t blow my net protection off from the six fledgling blueberry bushes I planted, leaving them to the mercy (or otherwise) of the ravenous pheasants, and that my hastily erected fencing around the 150 recently sown garlic cloves stays standing. Next spring the gamekeepers will install an enormous net over the entire 700m² growing area as protection from their birds but they won’t do it now for fear a heavy winter snowfall might bring it down along with their fencing.

I broke the journey near Builth Wells where a couple of friends, let’s call them Gerard and Hannah, have recently moved onto their land in a caravan. The difference between them and me is that rather than sensibly escaping the bitter winter frosts by upping sticks and finding shelter, they are actually trying to build their own house on the land before the real bad weather starts, using straw bales and timber. When I arrived they were just about to lay the very first straw bale onto a large rectangular platform base, resting on tyres filled with stone. I helped them place the initial layer of bales around the edge of the platform, creating the beginnings of some extremely thick walls.

I had never previously done any straw bale construction and it was fascinating to see how simple and quick it was. The base bales were pinned to the platform with short wooden stakes pushed into holes in the platform, spike upwards. Once the bales are stacked six high, staggered like brickwork, they will be held together with long stakes forced through from the top. The exterior will be clad with timber, leaving a narrow gap for ventilation, and an insulated tin roof fitted from which rainwater will be collected as their water supply (this is Wales, after all - you can depend on the rain).

Hannah and Gerard’s home will be single storey but straw bales can be used for larger, more complex buildings, and are becoming more common since they provide such fantastic insulation for minimal cost. The amount of compression the straw is under prevents it from being a fire risk. Straw can normally be bought locally from farms so the carbon footprint is tiny. All in all this should be a much more widely used building material; probably the reason why it isn’t is the inertia and conservative approach of the British construction and insurance industries. 

Before heading on my way I paused to admire and nervously stroke their enormous fluffy Angora rabbits which they hope to turn into a wool business supplying ethical clothing companies who prefer not to buy the stuff from China where (a) Angora wool mostly comes from and (b) rabbit welfare is pretty low on the list of things people bother much about. More than half of their land is a very large field from which they will grow hay to feed to their rabbits thus reducing the need to buy expensive rabbit food.

The whole project is driven by a desire to live more simply with as little impact on the environment as possible - it’s a huge job for just two but I’m sure they can pull it off! Check out their planning application for more details.

Arriving at Pilsdon with the late afternoon sun making everything glow warm, it was wonderful to be greeted by so many familiar and friendly faces, each asking how I had survived the last six months in my Welsh bog. I am back in a world where floors don’t tilt, toilets are inside, walls keep the heat in, taps work and gush hot water, meals are (mostly) prepared by others, and the internet does not require a long bike ride. I’m going to make the most of these next few months.