Sunday, May 06, 2012

Gabrielle has taken up smoking again …


Gabrielle, she's smokin' ...
… but happily, we need not concern ourselves with her health as she’s not inhaling the little puffs, directing them instead at bees.  As I’ve written many times, we have a long list of things to do, however, that does not seem to put us off looking for new projects to occupy us further and bees have been on our permaculture smallholding wish list for quite a while.
different sorts of honey bees
It is over a year ago that I wrote of our purchase of a hive, with the promise of a swarm just as soon as our lovely local apiculteur Jean Meilleur (lit: John Best) could supply us with one.  It was a poor year for bees last year.  So, when Gabrielle came across a chap offering a nucleus of bees for sale, we went to see him.
Richard is an enthusiast.  If it’s not tautologically inappropriate to say, he is an enthusiastic enthusiast, bubbling over with energy, and he invited us to have a look at our prospective purchase, along with a few other hives, so as to get to know our new co-habitants.  Gabrielle had purchased a beekeeper’s smock for herself and an ‘observer’s smock’ for me.   Gabrielle kitted herself out with a pair of gardening gloves and Richard lent me a pair of blue ‘industrial Marigolds’ (thick rubber gauntlets).

It was a classic case of learning everything in the doing.  All the reading we had done wasn’t the preparation that a hands-on with an expert alongside can provide and we left there with even more enthusiasm and a whole load more savoir-faire and confidence.  Gabrielle painfully learnt that her gloves were inappropriate but I traveled home as un-stung as I’d arrived.
check out the pollen


Two days later, with the day turning to dusk, Richard arrived with our queen with her five frames of larvae, honey, nectar and workers in a nucleus box.  That now sits where our hive will live and, in a few days time, we move the box aside, replace it with our hive, move the frames across (making sure that we don’t lose the queen in the process) and Bob’s-your-uncle, we’ll have a functioning beehive.  


A day later and our bees are not only having a fly around to re-orient themselves to their new location but arriving home with yellow saddlebags of pollen, so they seem to bee reesonablee happée!
video

Saturday, April 28, 2012

When a man is tired of blogging, he is tired of life …

squeaky-clean new kitchen

Samuel Johnson
as that prodigious wordsmith Dr Johnson might have said if he hadn’t died over 200 years before the advent of the blog. Anyhow, this is just an unnecessarily over-elaborate way of saying that my lack of recent activity isn’t because I’m tired of blogging—or London, for that matter—just tired.

the old kitchen
After three weeks taken in March and a week in April, we had a ten-day window of vacant opportunity to get into our holiday rental cottage, rip out and replace the kitchen and have it all ready for the next guests.  It seemed a TV-cliché with us racing against a deadline to get the job done (just without a film crew and doomsaying presenter).

There used to be just a pair of gas burners and a separate oven and, as one of the main reasons for coming to France must be to enjoy the gastronomy, we felt it high time to improve the facilities.  Andrew and Sue, loyal volunteers, were staying in the gite while helping us in the woods and we discussed our ideas over dinner.  The following morning, Andrew (retired architect) produced a CAD drawing of the kitchen as was and offered his opinions of the way we could make best use of this small space.

new chick

A new ‘proper’ cooker now has a shiny cooker hood above it and we’ve bought a new A+ fridge and sink with drainer.  There is more worktop, which we made from reclaimed pine joists, de-nailed, planned up and glued together.  Andrew and Sue returned for another stint so Andrew could help me put it all together and, although we had floor tiling repairs, wiring, plumbing, building, painting and cleaning, it was all ready in plenty of time …
baby bunnies

… in fact, more time than we thought.  The postscript to this story is that we waited expectantly for our next guests that Saturday evening … and waited … and waited.  We always ask our guests to indicate their planned arrival time but Gabrielle suggested that we should also ask them to call us if they were going to be delayed.  After she'd mentioned this for the third time, I decided to check in the diary and found that they were not due to arrive until Wednesday!

During these works, smallholding life continues unabated.  Lambing may be over but we’ve still got babies popping out all over the place: one chick and six bunnies.  A pair of pigs has arrived and we’re awaiting a nucleus of bees that will be delivered as soon as the weather is favourable.   

And I’ve been writing as well, with two articles published in a French organic gardening magazine, Les 4 saisons du jardin bio.
So you can see why we might be a touch tired, just not tired of smallholding, blogging or even, Dr Johnson, London.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

A leap year was never a good sheep year

newborn Ouessant lamb
Sae much fur auld wisdom.  Luckily fur us an' uir woolly flock, thes auld Scottish sayin' is clearly a load ay balloney.  Had they instead said, “th' heed gaskit is gonnae blaw oan yer motor” they’d have been nearer to the mark.  En bref, this is a short tale of healthy lambs and a poorly Peugeot.

Gabrielle had left our Brittany smallholding for a trip to England to see her mother and daughter.  It’s a comfortably familiar trail now, four hours on uncluttered French roads followed by a pleasant four hours on the ferry from Dieppe to Newhaven.  After a few days with her mother, Gabrielle was making her way along the south coast, so that she could catch a train up to Christina in London.   She never got to Brighton.  She phoned me from a lay-by just outside Bexhill, “Houston, we’ve had a problem”.

Trying to keep a long story short, friend Phil came to see us last year, with his VW packed to the gunnels with wife, three kids and enough stuff for a weeks camping.  The turbo blew near Avranches one Friday evening.  I was able to rescue them in a borrowed minibus.  Phil was the nearest friend to Gabrielle’s breakdown and was soon on his way to help – car karma!

Gabrielle continued her now extended travels by train, while her car was undergoing surgery under the care of David, a mechanical friend of Phil’s.  Meanwhile, I was left alone in France with lambs popping out all over the place.

Why did you marry the billionaire Bernie Ecclestone?
Our four regular mums give us a lamb each, which is normal for the rustic Ouessants.  They were joined this year by a Suffolk cross ewe who we bought last summer.  The smaller Ouessant ram has clearly managed to rise to the challenge (Think Bernie Eccleston with now ex-wife Slavica) and our white lady with her black suitor has given us … (pause for effect) … one white lamb and one black.

Suffolk cross, crossed with Ouessant ram
The way we’d grouped our flock last summer meant that the ram had been in with the Suffolk ewe long before we introduced him to the Ouessants, so it was no surprise when she produced first, on 20th February, fortunately just after our really cold spell.  We had to wait until 10th March and then back-to-back on 20th and 21st.  All boys so far, with one ewe still to lamb.

Last night, just before turning in, I had a feeling in my water and went out to have one last look at the flock.  From a distance, the torch just picks out pairs of eyes and mum’s tend to shield their lambs, so it was a confusing few minutes, especially as I was counting one more lamb than I was looking for.  We moved mum and our one and only girl to the sheep shelter for the night.

So much for that auld Scottish sayin' as this leap year has turned out to be a very good lamb year.  However, David, a Scot, did tell Gabrielle that “th' heed gaskit has bloon oan yer motor,” and then proceeded to dismantle the engine and repair it.  The Peugeot is dead … long live the Peugeot: thank you David and Phil! 


Ouessant ewe with young lamb

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

You Can Spoon


 
This week I ’ave been mainly carving wooden spoons.  With 11 acres of woodlands green woodworking has long been on my list of things to learn about but, like so many things in our busy smallholding lives, it has remained in the ‘in tray’. 

The Jan/Feb edition of Living Woods Magazine (link) carried an article on ‘spoon evangelist’ and licensed pedlar, Barn the Spoon.  Through his blog I found Ben and Lois Orford’s carving knives and bought a ‘flatter small’ right-handed spoon knife for £27.  Then, taking account of the huge prices of his beautiful craft knives was happy to take Lois’s recommendation and bought a Mora Clipper CompanionKnife from The Bushcraft Store for just £10.95.  I already had a Gränsfors wildlife hatchet: a sweet little axe with a blade sharp enough to shave with.
 
I also wanted a book, of course, and the spoon carving bible seems to be Swedish Carving Techniques by Wille Sundquist.  It’s now out of print and is much sought after secondhand and at a price.  Wille’s son, Jögge, has however produced a DVD, Carving Swedish Woodenware, so I settled for that.

He’s very muscular, with flowing blond hair strapped back into a pony tail as he throws axes and wields fiercely sharp knives, all the while being terribly serious as he tells us how to “smoothen the wood”.  What is most important, and possibly where a DVD can improve over a book, is to show us the all important holds and cutting actions.

The basic rule seems to be: think what will happen to the blade if you slip.  Jögge shows us how to position our hands and manipulate the carving tools in a way that we should end up with a spoon or dough bowl without being rushed to the nearest casualty department carrying a finger in a polythene bag full of ice cubes.  I only half jest: beware these tools have fiercely sharp blades and the wood can take a fair bit of effort to cut.

I split a sycamore log with my froe to obtain a suitable ‘blank’, then drew on a spoon shape.  Purists may call my next move a cheat but I have a fine craft band saw (given to me years ago by a friend who had no further use for it) and I cut round the outline with that.  I used the axe a bit to cut off the bigger lumps, then used the knives.  Concentrating on not removing body parts and rewarded by this lump of tree looking recognisably more and more like a spoon, I found it curiously addictive.
 
When I felt I’d gone as far as I could, I put this wet-to-the-touch spoon in a dustbin of sawdust to allow it to dry slow enough to avoid cracking.  Two weeks later, I retrieved it and started work with some sandpaper.  Contrary to most things I try, my first attempt actually turned out rather well, the resulting spoon is deeply satisfying.  My second spoon (from a thin, twisted branch of ash) split as I was finishing but the third spoon (more sycamore) is drying and I have a wild cherry blank ready to go, just as soon as I finish uploading this blog.

Happy spooning !

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Author-ity


Feline muse
This week I ’ave been mainly writing magazine articles.  I’ve a couple of articles appearing in a French gardening magazine in May and that involves some correction of my hesitant attempts at written French by some friends.

Gabrielle and I have come to understand is that, never mind that French grammar is difficult for us Angles, it stretches the capabilities of the most educated of Frenchies.  I had Bruno and Mélanie (both educated to university level) at each shoulder, advising different things: “there’s an 's' there”, “no there isn’t”.  “It agrees with the subject”, “no, it agrees with the indirect object”. “So, there’s an 's'!” “No!” And so it goes on.

There’s also the problem of the person-correcting rising to the occasion a bit too much and starting to impose their own style.  It needs me to discern what’s grammatically important and then—waiting ’till they’ve left the building—change a few things back to how they were.

My second article passed, via Bruno and Mél, to Julie (friend and assistant editor of an eco-building magazine) and then (having rescued a bit of my own style) to the editor of the gardening magazine.  There was a rare old tug-o’-war over the fruits of my quill but it just about remains recognisably what I’d originally penned and they’re actually paying me, whatever they actually print.  Enough for a new, carbon-fibre fly-fishing rod: Thanks!

I’ve updated this blog, moving my magazine articles to their own page, from the menu on the right to a tab at the top.  Click on “Magazine Articles” to be taken to a new page.  When you click on the article title, the articles will open or download (depending how you’ve configured your ’pooter) as a PDF file. If you click on the magazine cover picture, it'll take you to the magazine's own website.

I’ve added my latest successes, an article about the fun we had putting duck eggs under a broody hen, and the first of a two part story on how we treat our sewage—Bonne lecture !

Thursday, February 02, 2012

Barn renovation update



work in progress (tea break not withstanding)

This week I ’ave been mainly freezing my n**s off renovating our barn.  It’s a slow process because there’s only me working on this building site but then that is keeping the costs down and it also means that I won’t run out of news to blog about anytime soon.  The walls start off in stone (une soubassement en pierre) and then turn into cob.  They’re over 60 cm (2 ft) wide at the bottom and taper, ever so gently, towards the top.  The door and windows are held in place by an apparently earthquake-and-hurricane-proof double frame of solid oak that spans the width of the wall.
 
I’m doing it ‘à l'ancienne’ and these ‘double carrés en bois’ consume an awful lot of oak.  Now there’s a couple of problems here:  a.) that’s going to be expensive and b.) the oak available to buy is green (soft, new, fresh from the forest) and, although it’s easier to work (chop mortises out of, for example) it’ll twist and bend and move as it dries.  I needed old, stable oak … and for as little as possible!

I looked at the pile of oak floor joists that I replaced with engineered wooden I-beams; was there some good wood left in the heart of these aged beams?  After four days spent on my knees with various power tools, many cups of tea and equal measures of patience and frustration, followed by a couple of days in friend Jim’s workshop, I can affirm in the positive.  

The downside of using old oak is that it’s as unwelcoming to woodworking tools as a lump of granite.  It took a long time to plane up the roughed out wood and then chop the mortises, the latter accompanied by a fair degree of acrid smoke, however slowly I descended the cutting bit.  I’m sure I left my generous friend Jim with a set of blunt tools at the end.

I’m currently making sure that the gable wall is fully supported before I break out a hole large enough to insert the new, larger openings and have room around them to work.  The idea is to not have the rest of the gable end fall on my head, quickly followed by the new roof!  Neighbour Serge, who’s ‘in-the-trade’, is supervising this important stage and will check what I’ve done before I remove anything substantial.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Surveying our Forest Garden


This week, I ’ave been mainly planting trees!  On our Christmas visit to visit family in England, we collected this year’s order from Martin Crawford at the Agroforestry Research Trust.  We’ve also sourced trees at local pépinières (nurseries) but they don’t do such arcane arbres as the blue bean (Decaisnea fargesii) hence sourcing trees from afar as well as locally. 

It’s a real pleasure to convert long hours of reading, decision making and plan drawing into digging holes: from coloured circles on the forest garden map into tangible trees.  We are starting to imagine what it might look like in five, and then ten, year’s hence; it’s exciting.

When we returned from our seasonal travels, we quickly planted the bare-rooted trees into some soft earth in the potager.  We could’ve planted them all in the forest garden in just a couple of hours excepting that we need to construct robust tree guards to protect them from our Ouessant sheep, who’ll share the field for a few years yet. 

The sheep look fluffy, act nervous but don’t let that deceive you: they’re cunning bastards.  They’ve overcome several of my previous efforts to keep them out and even learnt to walk on two legs in order to nibble at overhanging branches.  Never mind the ring barking of trees by rabbits and squirrels, these cuddly creatures bastards would reduce our nascent forest garden to dead sticks under an hour, if it wasn’t for the pallet palisades.

Not quite in an authentic permaculture design order, as all the surveying should have been done before the design ‘proposal’, but we profited from the loan of a laser level and the annual Halloween visit of our technically-super-competent engineering friend, Kristen to create a contour map.   

The laser level was very easy to use: up-a-bit, down-a-bit, beep, beeb, beep, take the reading.  While we cooked supper, Kristen dabbled around on the computer and produced this useful contour map (see top image).  What was interesting to both Kristen and I was that we were both massively deceived by the amount of fall over the length of the field.  That’s to say that, by eye, we thought the difference no greater than our own height but ended up extending the measuring rod to its limit, well over double that.   

This information will help us in digging fish-scale swales (according to Toby Hemenway) to keep our trees watered in the dry summers evermore typical in Brittany.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Making compost in 18 days with Geoff Lawton


Building up layers of different materials

cold composting bins
We cold compost, which is to say that we add material to our compost piles as it arrives from kitchen or vegetable plot and it moulders away, decomposing slowly.  We alternately use four adjacent boxes and when the compost is about ready, we empty that box and riddle it to remove uncomposted material, which goes back into a fresher pile.  It takes months to make compost this way but is relatively low maintenance.

if you just add water at the end, it won't soak through evenly
The alternative is hot composting, which involves creating a large pile all at once (which heats up) and then turning it regularly to maintain the heat.  We've tried it before but were inspired to have another go after watching the very specific advice from permaculture hero Geoff Lawton, on his new video, Permaculture Soils 

His informing belief is that “it’s not the soil itself, it’s the soil life that is the most important element.”  He teaches us to inoculate the soil with bacteria by using a very diverse mixture of compostable materials such as different manures (the nitrogen component) dried grass toppings, green grass clippings (providing the ‘yeasts’) along with shredded and partially rotted wood (food for fungi). 

six days in
He talks about adding activators, such as urine, comfrey, nettles, yarrow, fish or animal remains to kick start the decomposition process.  He also mentions adding charcoal for its surface area (I’ll blog about what I’ve recently learnt of biochar soon). The whole lot should be wetted (see below).  One needs enough material to create a minimum of one cubic metre in total, otherwise it won’t get up to the necessary temperature. 
Cat enjoying the warmth generated by the compost process

We gathered pig manure, chicken droppings, rabbit pellets and sheep poo.  We added wheat straw and fresh grass clippings, chipped wood and comfrey leaves and litres of wee collected from our urine-separating compost toilet.

He talks of having 25 parts nitrogen to 1 part carbon but, as I wrote in my recent article for PermacultureMagazine on our compost toilet: “The ideal carbon/nitrogen ratio of 30 : 1 is often quoted but rarely explained.  It certainly doesn’t mean 30 times as much straw as solids; in fact, both faeces and urine contain carbon and nitrogen in their chemical makeup…  Don’t bother getting the scales and tape measure out as you search for the correct amount.”  It’s a learning process and you’ll find that too much nitrogen means that the pile gets too hot and reduces in volume, losing goodness to oxidation.  Too little and your pile won’t get warm enough to kill weed seeds and break down the woody material.
8 days and the colour is beginning to change

There are two criteria to measure, that’s the moisture content and the temperature.  For the first, grab a handful and squeeze: it should just drip.  For the temperature, he tells us to shove our hand in.  TAKE CARE, as it can get really hot.  Be sensible and open up the pile a bit and get a feel before you actually touch it.  At 60ºC, you wouldn’t be able to leave your hand there.  We actually used a meat thermometer and pushed the whole thing in, probe, dial and all, leaving it for a few minutes before retrieving it and looking at the temperature.  We tried it in several positions in the pile.  Aim for a min of 50ºC max 70ºC, ideally between 55 and 65.  (Above 70ºC is beyond the limit of life for our decomposing bacteria and the process becomes anaerobic.) 
10 days

Construct your pile, cover it up with old tarps or plastic sheeting (leaving an air gap at the bottom) and leave for four days.  Then unwrap and turn the pile.  We used a pitchfork and rebuilt the pile alongside itself, trying to put the stuff that was on the outside on the inside and vice-versa (if you see what I mean!)  Wrap the rebuilt pile up again and, from then on, the pile gets turned every two days for the next fortnight, reaching its maximum temperature on the second or third turn, i.e., 6 or 8 days into the process, when it should attain the ideal of around 60ºC.  Geoff’s claim is that, if you get it right, it gets hot enough and decomposes without losing volume.
16 days and the heat has reduced but we're seeing fungal growth

The photo sequence shows our experiences with our first two batches.  We now think that the moisture content is vital and ended up adding a lot at the start to pass the squeeze test and a bit during the turning process.  We think we had proportionally too little nitrogen on the first batch, maintaining volume but not being fully composted at the end and never quite getting up to the desired temperature.  We overdid the nitrogen in the second version, getting good decomposition but losing a lot of volume.

This last photo shows our second attempt, at the end of the process.  It's much darker, has decomposed more than the first but we've lost volume.  

We can generate or get access to the necessary amount of material to build a cubic metre pile and it’s very useful to create such a quantity of compost in just 18 days or so, so we will keep trying.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Helping out and being helped


our new woodland walk
I’ve spent a day helping out our local vet.  While he rushed around in his Citroën camionette dealing with poorly cows, I tamed an unruly hedge in his garden using my chainsaw, assisted by a sprightly octogenarian called Monsieur Galet.  I never got to know his first name, an etiquette of respect for his age, but neither did he get to know mine: nothing to do with etiquette but rather because he couldn’t get to grips with its un-Frenchness.  Despite repeating it several times, he never did grasp it, so, for a day, I became “eh-ho”.
we left this fallen tree in situ, there's a way past by the roots


It’s not as if we don’t have enough to do around the smallholding and, now we’re in winter, in our woodlands but this days work for Hammadi was willingly given and is another example of the many local exchanges we have going on here.  It’s also the time we host volunteers and we’ve just had two weeks of gold-star-top-drawer volunteers Sue and Andrew.  Suckers for punishment, they came for aweek in February and asked to come again for a fortnight.

Andrew built us our lovely bridge that links an existing path from the entrance, through a parcel of wild cherry, oak and goat willow, into another parcel of predominately ash, which is carpeted in bluebells in spring.  For some time, we have wanted to continue and create a complete nature walk that takes people through all the different parts of the woodland, leading them safely back to the entrance.

Two paths diverged in a yellow wood ...
One Wednesday, child-minding 10 year old Camille, we went for a tramp round the woods armed with long canes with coloured rag tied to the end.  By shouting and waving the flags, we were able to plot a path, leaving a trail of garden canes to mark it. 

During their visit, we spent four days in the woods with Andrew and Sue, hacking brambles, pulling roots, removing overhanging branches and some trees, finally rubbing our heavy-duty tripod lawnmower over the path.  It looks great; we couldn’t be more pleased with it.  I reckon that the hard work being done, it won’t take too much maintenance during the year to keep it like that.

The next job, and one to be done at the kitchen table, is to draw up a map so that holidaymakers in our gite can independently find the wood and navigate around the new path.  If they walk quietly and keep their eyes and ears open, they might see some of the wildlife along the way, such as roe deer, this fire salamander or maybe even a wild boar (we’ve got plenty of signs of visits but actually encountered one face-to-snout yet).

fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra)

Friday, November 25, 2011

Fattening pigs on acorns


Two weeks of Andrew and Sue volunteering comes to an end and another article in the post, it’s time to catch up with some blogging:

Our pig farming neighbours, Paul and Christiane, have retired this year.  Ever since we’ve kept pigs ourselves, we’ve done an exchange with them, whereby I manage the English-speaking guests in their gîte and they give us all the cereals that we need.  It’s an elegant solution.  What I give is just a small thing for me (a few minutes on the computer replying to emails, preparing contracts and cycling down to translate on their arrival) but enormously important for them (most of their rental income comes via me).  En revanche, considering the scales involved, a few bags of ground mixed cereals is nothing for them but of considerable value to us (compared to the price we’d pay at the local agricultural merchants for similar).

We overfed our first pigs, and to lesser degrees the second and even third year before we got it right.  The key point was a little bit of advice in Starting With Pigs by Andy Case, “feed pigs by eye”.  It’s good advice but requires a level of expertise that only years of experience, and a few fat pigs, can give.  In the second year, we started weighing out their food, following a regime from the breeder.  The ‘problem’ is that, as they live outdoors, they have access to a whole lot of natural nutrition and we can’t measure how much of it they eat; so one has to learn to feed by eye.  We now give our pigs about a third of the cereal ration of their barn-raised cousins … but we do still give them some cereals.

There has been lots of building work going on as the new owner brings the buildings into conformity with the latest welfare standards.  When I went round to collect the last few bags of feed, that would see our pigs through to the day they left for the abattoir, the machine couldn't be made to work and I left empty handed.  What could we do?

I was missing the oakey obvious:  When we give holiday guests the introductory tour of our permaculture smallholding, we come to the pigs, where I point out what a lovely area they have to free range in.  I explain that the pigs eat a surprising amount of grass, root around (for roots!) and benefit from excess of cherries, plums and apples as they come into season, and finally acorns from the four mature oak trees that surround the paddock.  I even tell them that in Spain, there are pigs that are fed exclusively on acorns to make the very best quality jamón ibérico.

It’s been a very good mast year and there is an abundance of acorns.  We bought a clever rolling basket device (called a nut wizard) from Martin Crawford at The Agroforestry Research Trust and started to hoover up the acorns.  We’ve also been making lots of apple juice.  So we finished our three pigs on a diet of acorns and apple pulp and they seemed very happy and suitably heavy.


There are so many acorns, we’ve carried on collecting and will try to store them to feed to next year’s pigs before the acorns start to fall again.