Tag: reducing carbon footprint

Wild Spaces

Tagged , , , , , 14 Comments

The weather has cooled to something more comfortable following a week of oppressive heat exacerbated by high humidity and although we are still very much in t-shirt and shorts mode, there is a soft and subtle shift towards things more autumnal at each end of the day now. As the equinox draws near, the sun’s path is noticeably shortening and the lower angles of light and longer shadows bring a serene and muted quality to our mornings, all silvered with cobwebs and dew and embroidered with the robin’s poignant song. If May is my favourite month, then September comes a close second. It’s truly beautiful.

One of the unexpected outcomes of my butterfly monitoring walks is an awareness that I am able to walk far more comfortably than has been the case since last June. I’m still not able to stride out as briskly as I used to and steep inclines remain something of a challenge but there is such joy and relief in at last being able to get out and wander further and faster than before, especially as I love to roam in the early mornings at this time of year. I’m still not up to running, though, so for my most recent transect walk I decided to switch things around and finish, rather than start, with the garden section; the heavy heat was forecast to trigger stormy showers and a thunderous sky to the west suggested they were very much on their way. I thought it best to walk the lane section first as it made more sense to be within dashing distance of the door rather than risk a drenching half a mile from home. I’m so glad I made that choice as if I hadn’t, I’m pretty sure I would have missed the beautiful Painted Lady butterfly feeding on a zinnia in the mandala bed. Painted Ladies are one of the most widespread and numerous butterfly species and yet this is the only one I have seen all summer; they are a migratory species, unable to survive a northern winter in any form, so perhaps this one was in transit, stopping briefly to refuel on its journey south. Such a fleeting visit, but another precious moment of connection and a new little beauty to add to my list.

The Painted Lady at least had the good manners to put in an appearance during a monitoring walk, unlike two other new species which decided to appear later that same day so that I was unable to include them in my data (it might be tempting to cheat, but this is science after all so rules must be followed). First, a small brown butterfly that was obviously different to the similar species I’ve recorded; it wouldn’t stay still for a decent picture but I did manage to identify it as a Wall butterfly. Then, hot on its heels, that teasing black and white character I’ve been trying to pin down for a couple of weeks, which turned out to be a White Admiral. The season might be waning and butterfly numbers starting to fall away but there are still some charming surprises to enjoy.

It’s been interesting to read the results of the Big Butterfly Count this week, the headline of increased numbers being something positive to celebrate. Fascinating, too, to look at the changing trends and the comparison of species and numbers across the four nations of the UK and, at a personal level, the data I have been collecting here. Certainly, Gatekeeper has been the most numerous species I have seen both in the garden and along the lane, although this week the Speckled Wood butterflies have easily outstripped everything else; unlike the overall UK numbers, I can’t say there has been a noticeable amount of Red Admirals, although I did see one feeding on the Michaelmas daisies this week, bright and beautiful despite a ragged lower wing.

Notwithstanding the happy headline, the overall picture continues to be one of sad decline for many species and the need to help remains as strong as ever; I’m hopeful that the encouraging number of people who participated in the count is an indication of increased interest and commitment to making change for the better. I’m currently reading The Hidden Universe: Adventures in Biodiversity by Alexandre Antonelli, the Director of Science at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew ~ a perfect gift from loved ones who know me far too well! It’s a beautiful book at many levels but not least for me, the optimism that is woven through so much of the writing and I find myself marking page after page where I have found words of inspiration. As long as there are natural habitats and species left, he says, then there is hope. I like that. He also talks of the benefit of any commitment to saving biodiversity being underpinned by emotional connection and this is where I think citizen science is so advantageous, encouraging ordinary folk to engage one-to-one with the wonders of the natural world.

To this end, I have (rather cheekily 😊 ) joined the UK Butterfly Conservation’s ‘Wild Spaces’ scheme which is designed to encourage people to adopt butterfly- and moth-friendly practices in any outdoor space, no matter what size and at an individual, group or community level. Now obviously, I don’t live in the UK and the data I collect feeds into the European scheme but as northern France appears on the ‘Wild Spaces’ interactive map ~ and to my mind, nature takes no notice of international boundaries ~ I asked permission to add our garden . . . and was given a very warm welcome. Dr Richard Fox, Head of Science at Butterfly Conservation, has suggested that if everyone who took part in the butterfly count created a Wild Space it would lead to a UK-wide network of butterfly habitats that really could make all the difference to their future. There’s plenty of information and suggestions on the website which I think provides a great platform for support, sharing and inspiration and I shall certainly be tapping into ideas to put into practice around our patch in the hope they will help to bolster insect populations. As with so many other issues, I can choose to either moan or do something about it and as I’ve always preferred action to navel-gazing, the creation of an Even Wilder Space beckons!

On the subject of complaining, a debate has erupted locally this week centred on the apparent proposal to put up wind turbines on nearby farmland; I say ‘apparent’ because I’m not completely convinced it’s for real given what seems to be a lot of rather vague rumour and hearsay and a lack of any concrete evidence. Still, I’m following the discussions and developments with interest but, whatever the outcome, the matter has me pondering why in our society (by which I mean the modern human world in general) the answer to so many issues still revolves around having more. Maybe I’m naïve, but surely if everyone could be persuaded to reduce their electricity consumption even by a small amount, there would be no need for more production? If funds could be diverted towards helping the local community insulate their homes and install solar panels and heat pumps, both of which are pretty popular here, then perhaps the turbines could stay away. It’s not just electricity, either, since any reduction in the consumption of water, fuel, journeys, clothes, general ‘stuff’ and the production of waste of all kinds could have a massive impact, the tiniest gestures rippling outwards to create significant change. Once again, there is no point in me ranting: I need to put my money where my mouth is.

Just in case with all the butterfly love going on, you’re thinking I’ve abandoned those wonderful wild bees . . .

Where our ‘simple’ lifestyle is concerned, I have to admit I’ve been treading water in terms of progress over the last year or so as coping with severe pain and reduced immobility has been hard enough without trying to add a pile of new ideas or activities to our day-to-day living. I have, however, been studying the French Anti-waste Law of 2020 in detail and there has been the bones of a blog post based on it sitting in draft form for several months ~ one of these days I’ll hopefully get round to fleshing it out into something worthy of publishing! One piece of information I was both delighted and surprised to discover was that since the law came into being, consumers have had the right to buy all loose goods in their own containers, as long as they are clean and fit for purpose (the receptacles, not the customers 😉). Delighted, because I think it’s definitely the right way to go in tackling the mammoth issue of packaging and single-use plastic, surprised because the only person I’ve ever seen exercising the right so far is . . . me. Still, I’m optimistic that this will catch on and if I can create a little ripple every time I fill calico bags with rice or mushrooms or hand over a plastic tub for cheese and bacon, then so much the better.

Hunting down local outlets where we can buy package-free goods is taking some time but now that I have the bit between my teeth again, I’m hoping we will start to make some giant strides forward. The dried goods in the photo above came from a local deli where it’s possible to buy a whole host of loose organic produce as well as taking bottles to be refilled with washing-up liquid, shampoo and the like. Finding brown rice here isn’t easy but this shop hosts several hoppers, including the rather special and totally delicious Camargue rice grown in the south of France . . . still some air miles involved, but at least it hasn’t been shipped halfway round the world. The plastic tub in the photo is home to a kilogram of yogurt bought from our local organic dairy farm which has a shop next to the fromagérie where we can see the happy ladies busy turning milk from the herd of Normandie and Montbéliarde cows into dairy delights. The tub can be taken back empty to swap for a full one (it’s the best and creamiest natural yogurt I’ve ever eaten), we can buy a range of hard cheeses cut to size and wrapped simply in paper and also take our own bottles to fill with milk direct from a cooler. Even better, it’s within comfortable cycling distance. This is definitely how shopping ~ and eating ~ should be.

My breakfast bowl, picked from the garden, waiting for a dollop of that amazing yogurt . . .

Actually, we’re getting to the point where with all our own fruit and vegetables (bar mushrooms and the occasional lemon), herbal teas and apple juice from the garden, a bulk supply of local high welfare meat in the freezer, weekly trips to the dairy farm and enough wheat to mill flour for several months, we barely need to go near a supermarket at all. It’s mostly just for wine and beer which is a tad embarrassing but not so much so that I feel the need to break out a home brewing kit just yet. 🤣 I’ll be honest, I like love French wine, those vintners truly know what they’re doing. That said, I only buy the organic stuff or bottles bearing the HVE (Haute Valeur Environnementale) label which means the growers have had to reach a certain level of sustainable production; the wine industry is notorious for its use of pesticides and herbicides so if I can support those who have adopted a kinder way of working, then I’m happy. I’ve read this week that wine producers in the Bordeaux region are having to harvest their grapes at night because of the intense heat in the region, another reminder of how things are changing. On the subject of grapes, having rescued a vine we inherited in the garden by building it a new support and letting in air and sunlight, we are currently enjoying our first bumper harvest of black grapes; they are are big, sweet and juicy but are ripening unevenly (I’ve found over ten reasons for why that might be) which is no big deal, we are simply picking and eating them daily . . . and no, there are no plans to put them through the press!

The season quietly turns, bringing new delights, tasks, challenges and adventures but there is no overwhelming sense of hurry; there is much to be done in the garden and coppice, so much more to do in terms of walking more lightly on the Earth but we will get there, all in good time. I’m making lists, sharing ideas, hatching plans and musing over future projects but ultimately, enjoying every minute of these special September mornings because they will be over all too soon.

Hands on

Tagged , , , , , , , , 18 Comments

Organic, regenerative gardening can be many things: fascinating, rewarding, enriching, life-affirming, illuminating, fulfilling, inspiring and of huge benefit to mind, body and soul. However, anyone who thinks that sometimes I come across as a dewy-eyed, bunny-hugging, slug-snuggling softy when it comes to all things ‘nature’ might well have been a bit shocked to observe my reaction on discovering that something ~ something! 🤬~ had eaten off three of our young tomato plants this week. Actually, not even eaten, just bitten through the stem at the bottom, killing all the top growth. My first thought was slugs, but then when Roger saw a rabbit (nooooo! ) lurking between the pea rows, I thought maybe that was the culprit; the jury is still out, but whatever is doing the damage, it’s hugely frustrating . . . and believe me, I can rant with the best of them. Nature does have a way of seeking balance, however, so rushing to the mandala bed to check on those precious Finnish tomato plants (all present, correct and growing like stink), I noticed the flutter of something rather beautiful amongst all the bee activity in the sage flowers. From frown to smile in seconds; this is the third year I’ve been trying to persuade a swallowtail to sit still long enough for me to catch a decent snap. It’s definitely been worth the wait. 😊

Permaculture talks of the problem being the solution but that isn’t so straightforward when you’re not certain what the problem is, although little diggings around the beds suggests something furry rather than slimy. A quick look at general advice on the internet wasn’t much help, focusing as it did on raised beds, pots and fencing. We don’t garden in raised beds and I have no intention of making any, for tomatoes or anything else; I’ve chosen not to put any tomato plants in pots this year as they are so demanding when it comes to water and don’t produce as many fruits as those that are planted out ~ they are better off with their feet in the ground. We fenced the sweetcorn temporarily against hare attack which was easily done because it’s planted in a block, but I’ve deliberately scattered the tomatoes to all corners of the garden as an anti-blight strategy so fencing is a non-starter.

The sweetcorn ~ plus volunteer lettuce, landcress, rocket, dill and sunflowers ~ growing safely inside its protective netting fence.

Putting our heads together, we came up with a two-pronged solution: Roger made deep collars from a roll of thick, flexible plastic something-or-other left over from the renovation work which we fixed round each plant with a bit of duct tape, having first piled anti-slug grit at the bottom of each stem. Hopefully, this will at least give the plants time to reach a good size and be less vulnerable to attack before they outgrow their little guards. Luckily, I planted 35 in my usual overkill habit, so I shouldn’t mourn the losses too much. It’s still a tad frustrating, though, and combined with the current headache of the second drought of the year, I sometimes wonder if it wouldn’t just be easier to throw in the trowel towel and go to the shops instead . . .

Finnish ‘Evakko’ safe from attack, I hope.

In Vivre Avec La Terre, the authors discuss how from a global perspective, Western peoples are the least able to provide for their essential needs themselves. It’s true that the structure and impetus of our society mean the vast majority of people are unlikely to be able to build their own home, grow or catch food, or make clothes and medicines, skills which it’s possible may again become crucial as the planet and humanity spiral into an uncertain and unstable future. It’s an interesting discussion and something that has touched me for a long time. As a teacher, I railed against the curriculum for upper primary children which was so overwhelmingly academic, allowing very little time for practical activities; even subjects like Design Technology saw more lesson time being spent planning, assessing, evaluating and devising marketing strategies on paper than actually creating whatever was being constructed. The justification was always along the lines of, “Well, we need doctors . . .” ~ yes, we do, but we need many other skilled people, too, and it’s misguided to dismiss manual (from the Latin word manus, meaning ‘hand’) activities as second best. When our son Sam, who is a talented, enthusiastic and innovative cook, was seriously contemplating training as a chef, there were far too many comments from people who felt it would be a ‘waste’ of his brain. What rubbish! Apart from being insulting to chefs (who most definitely use their brains), I pointed out that I would rather have a cheerful chef than a miserable mathematician for a son any day. As things turned out, Sam chose a different path but he is still a dab hand in the kitchen and those skills could well become ever more important through his lifetime.

Will the knowledge and skills needed to grow, cook and preserve food become more crucial in the future?

Human hands must surely be one of the most mind-blowing pieces of engineering on the planet and yet what do we actually do with them? Press buttons, swipe screens, grip steering wheels, grab things from shelves or hangers . . . how often do we get the chance to really use our hands in practical, creative activities of the kind that are both rewarding and totally absorbing? When I researched my family tree some years ago, I came across a paternal ancestor ~ another Samuel, in fact ~ who lived in rural Cumbria in the early nineteenth century; he and his wife were basket makers who both survived well into their nineties and I’ve often wondered if their shared longevity was in part attributable to a life spent using their hands (and yes, brains) to create useful and beautiful items with simple tools and natural materials. Basket-making is something I would dearly love to learn and put into practice if our willows ever get going. In fact, my ambition is to make a new basketwork trug to replace the old wooden faithful when it gives up the ghost.

I’ve been collecting elderflowers from our hedgerows in the trug this week.

I have to confess, I love doing things with my hands and will always use the good old-fashioned way of doing something if I can get away with it. Perhaps it does make me a bit of a dinosaur but I would rather do things like whisk mayonnaise or make pastry by hand rather than using a food processor. My spinning wheel is a favourite tool, powered only by the gentle treadling of my right foot; in fact, I am fond of any such tools that are simple yet efficient, they have such a timelessness about them and of course, no need for fossil fuels of any kind.

Pressing apples for juice.
Cutting meadow grass for hay with a scythe

Reducing our reliance on fossil fuels is an important issue where creating a regenerative and resilient garden ~ and indeed, lifestyle ~ is concerned and one which I am all too happy to embrace. I love the fact that I can produce oodles of fresh, nutritious food without any need for machines, just time, energy, a few simple tools and my hands . . . and a fair bit of help from Mother Earth, of course! It feels so right, this gentle, nurturing approach that has nothing to do with power, order or control. Sowing seeds, planting out, spreading mulch, watering, tying in . . . these are all such peaceful activities that allow me time to connect not only with the plants in question but the rest of the abundant life in the garden. I don’t need to fuss about aphids on the aubergines when, crouched down to adjust a twine tie, I notice several predatory ladybird larvae on the lower leaves; picking gooseberries is a labour of love that leaves my hands scratched to pieces, but how can I complain when the air is full of bird song and bee buzz? If it takes me all morning to pick, process and preserve by hand whatever is currently cropping, then what does that matter? I can’t think of anything more important I could be doing with my time. It feels like a wonderful privilege.

I feel a particular sense of satisfaction when the carbon footprint of our produce is zero or even negative. Take lettuce, for example, something we are eating daily at the moment as the garden is bursting with them. If I sow seeds that were saved from last year’s crop in soil that has been built using organic materials from the patch and nourished with homemade compost, green manure from self-set or saved seed and homemade fertilisers, watered naturally by rain (I wish!) or with saved rainwater, harvested just minutes before eating raw, then fossil fuel inputs are zero. I have no need to go off-site to find or fetch anything, no need to buy goods or services from others, no need to tap into energy sources for cooking or preserving. The amount of work is minimal, especially given how freely and widely the seed has sown itself this year. If I cut the stem of a lettuce but leave the root in the ground, the plant will regrow to give another harvest and if I deliberately leave some plants to bolt and flower, there should be seed to save for next year. Any outer leaves not eaten can be scattered on the surface of the soil as a mulch or added to the compost heap. The whole process is a closed loop which has provided us with a huge ongoing harvest and hasn’t cost a penny; in fact, we could be providing others in the community with fresh, organic lettuce ( and courgettes, strawberries, peas, broad beans, herbs . . . ) too, if I could find the right mechanism for making that work.

Several lettuce varieties along with coriander, parsley and calendula deliberately left to set seed in the tunnel.

Of course, it’s not always quite that simple. I can press apples by hand until the cows come home but if I want to preserve the juice by pasteurising or freezing, then I need energy inputs. The elderflowers I’ve been picking this week will dry happily on a sunny windowsill to be stored for winter teas and medicines but to make cordial, I not only need to use the electric cooker but to buy sugar, oranges and lemons, too. I think the key as with so many things, is the goal of reduction rather than perfection and I’ve long believed that the most important of the 5 Rs (or however many are fashionable these days) is ‘reduce.’ If everyone cut back even in a small way on everything they consumed or used, then I think we would be in a much stronger and happier position to face the future. Roger and I would like to tap into solar power far more than we are currently doing and a solar oven and dehydrator are two of the projects we’re considering; in the meantime, paying attention to just how much energy (and other things) we consume and doing whatever we can to bring those figures down is a big priority . . . and the garden is a good indicator of how we’re doing.

At the end of this bed there are broad beans, rainbow chard, lettuce, red onions, summer cabbages, parsley, coriander, dill and calendula: tying up the beans and mulching everything is the only ‘work’ this polyculture has needed for weeks.

Where flowers are concerned, it’s much the same story. For starters, our whole approach of working with nature and encouraging biodiversity means that we have every excuse for letting wild flowers proliferate and do their own abundant thing. It’s lazy gardening at its best and I’m not sure we could improve on it.

The mandala bed is probably the most formal looking in the whole garden and yet it was created totally by hand from waste materials: cardboard, grass clippings, hay, sawdust, twiggy sticks, compost, molehills, shredded hedge prunings and a large rock all from on-site, herb plants raised from saved seeds and strawberries from runners. The only annual plants to go in there are spares from the potager as I don’t grow anything specially for it. No machinery, no fossil fuels, no external inputs, no cost and minimum maintenance; in fact, picking the strawberries has seen me spending more time in there over the last few days than the whole year put together.

As perennials generally have the reputation of being better subjects in regenerative growing than annuals ~ hence the focus on forest gardens, edible hedges and perennial vegetables ~ I have been making a concerted effort to move away from annuals flowers in the bigger beds by planting perennials grown from seed such as lupins, granny’s bonnets, echinacea, gaillardias and scabious plus other bits and pieces sourced from nurseries and the plant swap. Mmm, I’m not really sure why I’m bothering because I think this is a case where volunteer annuals are merrily recreating a flower bed year after year with total disregard for my endeavours. I might just have to accept defeat on this one . . . and as we’re talking zero maintenance, maximum colour and high density insect life, perhaps it’s not such a bad idea after all.

I’m not totally redundant: a few climbers have needed a little tying in to their supports here and there . . .

. . . although in most places, they’re happy just to scramble about without any help whatsoever.

Roses scrambling up a clematis.
Maybe we’ll have a grape harvest this year?

Despite the riot of floral colour around the house and in the meadow areas, one of my favourite spots at the moment is the Not Garden; here, nestled in the cooler green of semi-shade, wonderful things are happening in the potato patch. The white ‘Charlotte’ and mauve ‘Blue Danube’ have burst into flower bringing a beauty all of their own to the space but fear not, despite first appearances this is definitely not a case of monoculture! Mingled amongst and around the potatoes are the starry white flowers of horseradish and rocket, the dainty yellow of landcress, cheerful orange of calendula, soft mauve of chives, bright pops of crimson from ruby chard and sorrel, lettuce here, there and everywhere, the trefoil foliage of oca, succulent spear-shaped leaves of New Zealand spinach and the first blue borage flowers right on the cusp of opening. Oh, and a leek left to flower and set seed, too. I love patches like this: needing nothing more than an occasional mulch, they provide us with a wonderful variety of foods all produced in a chaotic jumble of vibrant and vigorous growth. It’s not quite food for free (we did buy a few new seed potatoes to add to our saved ones this year) but it’s not far off. Not a slug or bunny in sight, either. Perhaps I’ll carry on with this gardening lark for a bit longer, then. 😉

Sunshine, soup and summits

Tagged , , , , , , , 15 Comments

After a short spell of wet and gloomy weather, we have been luxuriating in a run of the most beautiful days imaginable. Early mists have dissolved quickly to leave skies of aching blue and bright, golden sunshine that sets the landscape alight. The mornings are dew-drenched, all slanting shadows and spider silk, and the afternoons are hung with a sweet softness that belies the season. Forget renovation work, the guest room will have to wait! We have been spending every moment possible outside, it is simply too good to miss. We’ve even dug out a couple of garden chairs again so we can sit and enjoy a coffee break outside, watching the birdlife and butterflies, turning our faces to the sun and generally making the most of every minute. These are such precious moments.

Warm weather aside, ’tis the season of soup and nothing brings me greater joy as lunchtime approaches than knowing there’s a bowl of steaming gorgeousness awaiting my attention. Soup is such an easy and forgiving food to make, simple, filling, comforting, delicious, nutritious . . . and when most (if not all) of the ingredients have come out of the garden, so much the better. This is food security at its best. The basic ingredients for our current mixes are garlic, onion, squash, beans and stock, and beyond that, anything can happen and no two soups are ever the same! Sometimes we use a homemade vegetable stock, others a meat stock and there’s nothing strange about that in a vegetable soup, classic French onion soup is made with a rich beef stock, after all. We might leave everything unblended so that it’s more of a broth, purée the lot into a creamy soup or ~ my favourite ~ blend everything bar the cooked beans and stir them in to finish. Flavours and extra ingredients change depending on mood or whatever comes to hand first so that it might be the addition of a rich tomato sauce from the freezer, a whack of fresh or dried chilli, some chunks of potato or carrot, parsnip or Jerusalem artichoke, sliced leeks, shredded greens or maybe some chopped celeriac leaves with their hunger-inducing herbal scent. The latter always reminds me of the delicious fasolada (bean soup) that our landlady Olga used to make when we lived in Cyprus and of which I ate huge quantities when I was expecting our first baby there. Cypriot tradition maintained that if a pregnant woman smelt food cooking, she had to eat some of it to ensure the baby’s good health, so the ever-generous Olga would send her girls knocking on our door with a plate or bowl of whatever culinary magic she was working in the kitchen. How I loved fasolada days . . . and how I didn’t end up the size of a house (pregnancy aside) I will never know! Olga used to buy and use flat-leafed parsley in gargantuan bunches and so given we still have a garden full of the stuff, I’ve been making my favourite soup topper which is a twist on Italian gremolata. Simply take a large bunch of parsley and chop finely with a couple of fat garlic cloves. Stir in a generous piece of hard cheese, finely grated (the classic recipe uses lemon zest of course, but I love a bit of cheese in my soup); in France, I use something tasty and unpasteurised like Comté or our local Tomme de Pail, in the UK a mature Cheddar is just the job. Add a glug of olive oil, bring it together into a thickish paste and that’s it: stir a dollop into hot soup, let that cheese start to melt then tuck in. Bliss in a bowl.

Parsley forest!

Happily, the fine weather has coincided with me feeling better than I have for months, not exactly pain-free yet and still a long way from normal but certainly far more mobile again at last. As standing up and moving about are now the most comfortable things I can do, I’ve been able to enjoy longer walks along the lanes, drinking in the beauty of the season and the colours of the trees now finally on the turn. There are birds everywhere, including several newly-arrived migrant species, fieldfares being without doubt the most vocal amongst them. There are huge gangs of them in the orchards, clacking away noisily and making fast work of clearing up the windfalls. The bramblings are back, too, chattering cheerfully in busy flocks mixed through with chaffinches and once again, great white egrets are striking statuesque poses in the wetter fields. Perhaps the most exciting sight, though, was a male hen harrier (busard Saint Martin in French) swooping overhead, unmistakeable in its snowy-white plumage with black wingtips and stunning against the blue sky. They are year-round residents here and the focus of a local environmental project to protect them through regeneration of the heathland habitat they prefer: something that obviously appears to be working. Closer to home, I’ve put out the bird table and feeders and it hasn’t taken long for them to become Takeaway Central once again; not that there’s any great shortage of natural food given the weather but I like to think this sort of nutritional support will be paid back next growing season when the aphids and caterpillars appear (are you listening, birds?). One thing I’ve noticed on my walks is what a tremendous crop of holly berries there is everywhere, still very much untouched but no doubt next on the menu for the fieldfares once the apples are all finished.

I’ve been managing a bit of light pottering about the garden, nothing too drastic but it’s been good to feel useful once again. I’ve been spreading mulch around the vegetable beds, tucking everything up before winter and giving the worms a lovely feast to work on in the coming months. Green manure of all kinds is flourishing, and not only in the garden; a short way up the lane, a field of phacelia has started to bloom and a little further on, a huge crop of mustard is in full flower, primrose yellow and smelling of spring. We have carpets of white clover and pockets of buckwheat, linseed and crimson clover volunteers all in flower but as ever, it’s phacelia that’s being a complete thug and I’ve had to chop it and drop it in several places where it was threatening to engulf food plants.

Rescuing leeks from a phacelia takeover bid.

I’ve also started sorting things out in the mandala bed where the first proper year of cultivation has seen an unexpected abundance of growth and harvests. Of the 32 herbs I planted round the edge, only two failed to survive the summer so I’m planning to replace them with a couple of self-set rosemary plants lifted from the gravel. The others have thrived, particularly sage and hyssop, and in many places they have already closed the gaps between them to make a hedge which is what I’d hoped for. I weeded around them, leaving the weeds as a mulch and cut back some of the more enthusiastic growth where it was impinging on other plants. In places, annual flowers had collapsed on top of the herbs and those needed cutting back, too; hard to believe how much I struggled to get them to germinate looking at so much prolific and woody growth now! I worked at ground level which gave me a wonderful insect’s eye view of everything that is still flowering and the abundance of creatures still feeding ~ honeybees, bumble bees, solitary bees, hoverflies and many different kinds of butterflies, including a clouded yellow. The latter is an interesting case as it is a migratory species, following the swallows up from northern Africa in the spring, and part of me suspects it shouldn’t still be lingering in Mayenne. Is this a reaction to climate change? Will there come a time when the clouded yellow stays here all winter? Now for a cautionary tale, the moral of which is never let yourself be distracted by the wonders of nature whilst wielding a pair of wickedly sharp secateurs . . . I was so engrossed in the fragile beauty and extraordinary journey of the clouded yellow that it took me more than a few seconds lo realise I’d made a half decent job of slicing the top off a finger. Mmm, I’m not exactly in a fit state to go running for first aid at any great speed, either! As Roger patched up the damage, he wryly observed how typical it was that no sooner had I recovered enough from one thing to be let loose in the garden again than I had started trying to chop another bit off. He’s right, of course; personally, I blame my butterfly mind. 😉

The garden is full of these small copper butterflies.

There’s nothing too unusual about a November day that brings clear blue skies and unbroken sunshine except that normally it would follow a night of hard glittering frost and offer a daytime temperature in single figures at best; 18C in the second week of the month isn’t unheard of, but neither is it ‘right’ and once again I’m wondering if this isn’t yet more proof of climate change. I’m not a great fan of cold weather and I love these warm, sunlit days that are such a bonus at this time of year . . . but it would be facile to even think for one moment that they are a good idea long term. Frustratingly, I can’t find a particular report I was reading about COP27 this week so I’m unable to say who I’m paraphrasing (scientist? politician? campaigner? journalist? protester?) but the gist of their comment was that we must guard against releasing a single extra tonne of carbon dioxide or methane into the atmosphere that isn’t strictly necessary. Call me cynical, but that comment had me immediately pondering just how much an event like COP itself contributes to the problem; according to this CNBC report from a year ago, emissions from the Glasgow COP26 summit were estimated to be about 102,500 tons (93 000 tonnes) of carbon dioxide. This figure is roughly double that of the emissions from the COP25 Madrid summit in 2019 and around 60% was accounted for by air travel. Now I am no expert, so I don’t feel qualified to judge whether the benefits of these climate summits outweigh the detrimental impact they have on the environment but am I alone in thinking there is a certain irony in thousands of people travelling from all over the globe to discuss solutions to the problems in no small part caused by, er, thousands of people travelling all over the globe? I know I’m part of the problem, even when consciously trying to tread lightly on the Earth: I put fuel in a car, use electricity and the internet, buy industrially-produced goods and foods, even if in small quantities; I rarely fly but I did climb aboard a plane to Norway in the summer. I am no environmental angel and I am the first to admit I have to do my bit if there is any hope of leaving an optimistic and viable world for my children and grandchildren. I don’t blame others or expect someone else to solve all the issues . . . but I do think, in these days of clever technology, that there has to be a better way for countries to seek a way forward than gathering together at a huge annual summit.

As I’m happy to put my money where my mouth is, I’ve been having another look at my own carbon footprint again this week. It’s something I like to do from time to time, if nothing else as a reminder of which areas of my life I need to keep tackling in order to reduce my carbon dioxide emissions. I knew that the flight to Norway would skew things a bit this year but even so, it’s always good to look for a downward trend with each analysis. As an interesting bit of research, I used several different carbon footprint calculator websites in English and French and ended up with results ranging from 3.44 tonnes to 7.94 tonnes per annum and yielding an average of 5.5 tonnes. In each case, I was well below the national or European average, but not always the global average ~ there was a surprising variation in figures for that ~ and I certainly have some way to go in reaching the global target of 2 tonnes. These calculators are useful tools as a basic guide but there’s a lot of discrepancy between them and I have to admit I found some aspects very frustrating. For starters, the information I keyed in was for our household of two, not myself personally, and I’ve been unable to clarify whether the algorithms automatically adjust to give the amount of emissions per capita. Also, I think our rural lifestyle counts against us as so many questions didn’t offer appropriate answers: one site didn’t give the option of our house being built from stone, several insisted that heating a home with wood meant burning pellets, none allowed for us growing our own food; one site automatically added figures for municipal sewage treatment when we have a private septic tank (no question of a compost toilet!), one refused to let me ride any kind of bike other than electric and several considered gardening to be a ‘hobby’ so that expenditure in that area seemed like an indulgence.

Salvia ‘Hot Lips’ was a free gift from a garden nursery and has flowered for months.

    I liked the fact that in some cases I was able to select a statement that best described my behaviour (for example, that I only buy new clothes when necessary to replace old ones) rather than give a rough figure for average expenditure. I was also pleased that some sites took water usage into consideration since treated water piped to homes has a carbon footprint which is all too often overlooked. There was, however, a good deal of cherry-picking going on with detailed questions about showers, baths, laundry and dishes but nothing about toilet flushes, car washing or irrigating the garden; in a similar vein, there was a lot of focus on how much and what kinds of meat people were eating with no consideration of how many meat-eating pets they might be feeding. I think there is also a danger of making simplistic assumptions. Where diet is concerned, I believe people have to make up their own mind and if someone wishes to be a vegan, then that is their right; however, that doesn’t necessarily mean any particular individual vegan is eating a ‘better’ diet than those who choose to eat meat, especially if it is based on imported foods with questionable provenance such as soy, almonds and avocados or highly-processed and packaged plant-based junk food and fizzy drinks. Without knowing more specific details, it’s difficult to make a meaningful judgement.

    Local, seasonal food: parsley, rainbow chard and Welsh onions in the mandala bed.

    This, I think, is one of the biggest drawbacks of using footprint calculators; as I said earlier, they are a great basic tool but in so many cases, the information needs to be qualified in order to give an accurate picture. So much of the assessment is dependent on consumption in a linear economy and there’s no leeway to break out of that mould; there’s much attention paid to the accumulation of ‘stuff’ but very little acknowledgement of the accompanying waste stream. For example:

    • Driving a medium-sized diesel car makes us instant environmental pariahs but I would point out that we bought our car second hand, it is six years old, has been regularly and well-serviced, is extremely fuel-efficient and we do so few miles annually that we only put fuel in it once in every three months or so ~ and that includes any UK trips we make. Would it honestly be better for us to scrap the car and replace it with a new electric model, or should we try to eke as much ‘life’ out of this one as we can first?
    • When it comes to books, I have to admit to regularly buying big piles of them . . . but they are second hand from a local charity shop so we buy, read and then return for re-sale in a simple yet satisfying and very successful example of a circular economy.
    • Heating water on the stove using logs from our coppice (which provide space heating and cooking heat at the same time) to make a herbal tea from plant materials collected from the garden, dried naturally then composted when used, is an example of a closed-loop system which it is impossible to describe within the set parameters of algorithms.

    We have recently bought a new washing machine to replace the one that was left here by the previous owners; to be honest, it was in a pretty poor state when we moved here and I’m amazed we managed to have nearly two year’s use from it. When it finally stopped working, our first thought was to repair it; Roger is an engineer who once built a car, so a washing machine is well within his capabilities but unfortunately, it wasn’t that straightforward. For starters, the replacement parts needed were so expensive that it didn’t cost much more for a complete new machine (and what guarantee that having replaced those bits, something else wouldn’t break, given the age of the old machine?) The bearings were one of the things that needed replacing and according to the manufacturer’s guidance, in order to do this the drum and its casing had to be split and separated, but when Roger investigated it became clear that it would be totally impossible to do that without breaking them. Talk about planned obsolescence: an expensive machine with a ‘quality’ brand name and A+++ efficiency rating, deliberately designed and priced out of the repair market. What hope for anyone’s carbon footprint when this is the way of the modern world? (Even worse, when we took the dismantled machine for recycling, the site assistant decided that the drum/casing part had to go into the general waste skip ~ and ultimately landfill, I assume ~ because it was impossible to separate plastic from metal. Waste in every sense of the word.)

    Overall, it’s been an interesting exercise and the upshot is that I need to keep on reading and learning from a broad spectrum of research and opinion, but I think any decisions about changes in behaviour still need to be based on pragmatism and common sense. After all, it could be argued that it would be best to ditch the car and washing machine altogether: that wouldn’t be impossible, but it would make life less comfortable and more difficult. Looking at the smaller things, should I carry on writing a blog, buying books and feeding the birds or are those all unnecessary indulgences? There’s a lot to think about and much of it isn’t easy, but in the end all I can do is try my best in practical terms and not become too weighed down by it all in the process. I’m not being flippant when I say that bright sides are important, too; that the weather is unseasonably warm could be an indication of very serious things going on but it does mean no heating needed in the house, the laundry drying on a line in the sunshine and a garden full of food . . . and in the short term at least, that’s a little silver lining on a November day.

    One step forward . . .

    Tagged , , , , , , 7 Comments

    In all the excitement and busyness following our move six months ago, it has been easy to lose sight of how we stand now in terms of our green credentials. For much of the time, in fact, I have been mourning changes and losses that have felt like giant steps backwards including:

    • leaving an established garden with excellent soil and a good variety of fresh produce, even in December
    • lack of fresh food from the garden
    • lack of stored foods such as jars of preserves, sacks of nuts and a shed load of squash
    • no compost or manure
    • no polytunnel or greenhouse
    • exchanging natural spring water for treated mains water
    • the need for more heating
    • lack of logs
    • the need to buy new furniture
    • running out of homemade soaps / toiletries
    • no crafting
    • not having time to look at new ideas and changes we could make

    However, dwelling on the downside of anything for too long isn’t healthy so I’ve decided it’s time to stand back once again and take stock of exactly where we have got to in our quest for a simple life that encourages us to tread gently on the planet. From time to time, I like to look at our carbon footprint using two very simple calculators, the World Wildlife Fund carbon footprint calculator and the Global Footprint Network ecological footprint calculator. They are pretty basic and there are some issues that frustrate me (not least, where are the questions about water consumption?) but they are free, user-friendly, full of helpful tips and provide a way of checking progress over time. The good news is that, on both measures, we haven’t gone backwards and in some areas we have improved, even if it doesn’t feel like it!

    So, in the name of balance and keeping a sense of perspective, here’s the list of positive things to date:

    • Fewer car journeys and greater fuel efficiency as ameneties are closer and we aren’t driving on mountain roads with hairpin bends
    • Using my bike to go shopping / run errands
    • Solar water heating
    • Installation of wood panelled ceilings and insulation upstairs and heavy lined curtains on windows to improve heating efficiency
    • Electricity on a 100% green tariff from Planète OUI
    • Additional water butts to increase rainwater capture system
    • Large polytunnel full of food plants
    • Large vegetable garden now producing most of our meals
    • Composting system set up and continual soil improvement in action
    • Log shed slowly filling
    • Some secondhand furniture bought and / or revamped
    • Local charity shop, especially good for books!
    • Store of preserves fetched from Asturias plus a start made on new ones
    • Plans to have chickens and bees again
    Garden ‘green up’ – lettuce, perpetual spinach, rainbow chard, New Zealand spinach, beetroot leaves, chickweed, courgettes, peas, garlic scapes, basil and chives. Cooked together in a little bit of olive oil and their own steam, this makes small amounts of veggies go a long way (and it’s efficient, nutritious and delicious, too).

    There are some things we can’t change and will have to learn to live with. It would be lovely to have our own spring water again and certainly, at some point in the property’s history, there would have been a well here somewhere. However, there is at least a separate tap in the kitchen with a filter attached for drinking water so we can’t taste the chlorine; we intend to keep extending the rainwater capture system and also install a grey water tank to keep our consumption down to a minimum. Insulating upstairs made a huge difference to the temperature of the house (it must have been unbearably hot in summer as well as freezing cold in winter) but the kitchen woodstove and heating system need a major overhaul to improve efficiency. We’ve looked at installing solar panels for electricity but it simply doesn’t cost in, especially as we are such low consumers; it would also mean tying ourselves to EDF and on balance, I think supporting an ethical green company like Planète OUI (who encourage us to send a meter reading every month so we can track our consumption and pay just for what we’ve used rather than setting a monthly payment) is a better bet for us. Roger is currently turning part of the outbuilding into a practical utility room which will suit our lifestyle well; there is already a toilet in there but I’m frustrated by the fact that it isn’t a compost toilet, which would make so much sense all round. That’s one to think about for the future.

    It’s good to feel like I’m starting to get up to speed with things once again. It seemed very strange running out of handmade soap, my tried and tested recipe that doubles as solid shampoo has served us well and now I have my equipment back from Spain, I can start another batch as well as experimenting with soapwort from the garden. I’m a complete convert to herbal teas (which just goes to show you are never too old to change) and I’m also set on shifting my understanding and use of herbs and plant materials in toiletries, medicines and the like up several gears. I’ve been dodging heavy downpours in the last few days (who said Mayenne has hot, dry summers? 😆) to harvest as many different flowers and plants as possible for drying. I don’t have a dehydrator so I’m hanging big bunches under shelter outdoors and spreading smaller things across the windowsills. It’s starting to feel like a herbal treasure trove and the house smells wonderful.

    Lavender, rose petals, calendula and thyme.

    One of the things I love about reading other blogs is the wealth of helpful information and ideas they share, so a big thank you to Sarah of WeAreTreadingSofter for flagging up the Count Us In organisation and Plastic Free July. Both these movements and challenges have given me the nudge I need to get back on track with some green stuff; I don’t want to become complacent and there is always something new to learn or try, or perhaps just a different perspective to consider. For Count Us In, I’ve pledged to ride my bike for as many shopping trips as possible over the next two months. I realise this might seem something of a cop out as I’m doing it a bit already but I intend to use the time to get a firmer grasp on what is truly possible and, combined with Plastic Free July, I’m hoping good things will happen as a result.

    For instance, if I commit to riding to St P on Wednesday morning for the market, I can buy good quality produce including meat and goat dairy products direct from the farm that are sold loose and wrapped in paper. I’m hoping not to be using the fruit and veg stall for a while but nothing is pre-packed and they are always happy for me to take my own bags. I’m building a good relationship with several small outlets in the town and getting to a point where I could take my own rigid containers (say for meat), but I need to sort out the logistics of transportation as space in my bike basket and rucksack is limited. Compared to supermarket prices, meat in particular is expensive but we don’t eat very much these days and I’m happier supporting local family businesses and farmers in this way; the steaks from local pasture-fed cattle I bought to celebrate our wedding anniversary this week were arguably the best we’ve had in years.

    Anniversary salad from the garden – only the olives were bought.

    I also want to experiment with going further afield and in particular to Pré-en-Pail which is about 8km (5 miles) away. There’s a wider range of shops and amenities there but for me, the biggest draw is the Helianthus charity shop which is a complete Aladdin’s cave. We bought a beautiful tub armchair from there when we moved here (that definitely wasn’t one for the back of my bike!) and I’m planning to make good use of the clothing and household linen section but the number one treat for us is books – shelves and shelves of them. At 20 cents each, we buy piles of them, read them and return them for resale; it’s like a handy borrowing library and we are enjoying it immensely. If we went more often, then we could easily manage to carry a reduced number of books on our bikes and also spend some time exploring what else the town has to offer. If we can reach a point where we are seldom venturing any further than that for shopping, I’ll be very happy.

    Soapy soapwort . . . look at all those lovely bubbles! Natural shampoo made from simmering chopped soapwort stem and leaves with rosemary and sage: 100% natural gentle cleansing.

    We’ve gone a fair way in reducing single use plastics over the last few years, but it’s always good to stop and take stock once in a while to look for more possibilities. Cloth food bags, reusable shopping bags and bee wraps have become a way of life and we never buy the big offenders like carry-out coffee cups and lids, plastic straws or cotton buds. Pretty much every kind of plastic packaging can be recycled here but recycling is only one notch up from throwing away, and I remind myself often that in fact, ‘away’ doesn’t exist. My favourite permaculture principle is ‘produce no waste’ so it’s imperative that I keep working towards that. In order to do a bit of an evaluation, I hit on two ideas. First, instead of storing the recycling until we go somewhere in the car, I’m going to take it to the nearest recycling point from home which is about 2km away on my bike. That means I will have a much greater awareness of the quantity we’re producing and any reduction in weight and volume will make my life easier! Second, I set myself the challenge of spending a day eating and drinking only foods that had arrived in the kitchen free of plastic. Here’s how I got on . . .

    Breakfast – hot honey (glass jar to be re-used) and lemon (no packaging); oats (cardboard and paper) soaked in apple juice (glass bottle to be re-used) with walnuts (orchard) and sunflower and pumpkin seeds (bought from a bulk hopper into paper bags).

    Mid-morning – lemon balm, lavender and thyme tea (fresh from the garden).

    Lunch – homemade basil bread (flours in paper bags, yeast from sourdough starter in jar in fridge, basil from garden), cheese (Bleu de Bresse in foil and cardboard, Doré de l’Abbaye in paper), salad (garden), homemade chutney (re-used glass jar), homemade elderflower cordial (re-used glass bottle).

    Mid-afternoon – yarrow and peppermint tea (fresh from the garden); bowl of stewed gooseberries (garden) sweetened with a little honey (glass jar to be re-used).

    Dinner – omelette made from onion (garden), mushrooms (paper), eggs (cardboard) and herbs (garden) with new potatoes (garden) and ‘green-up’ of courgette, chard, perpetual spinach, New Zealand spinach, garlic scapes, peas and broad beans (garden). Local apple juice (glass bottle to be re-used).

    White clover, red clover, daisies, honeysuckle flowers, selfheal and plantain.

    That certainly didn’t feel too stressful and it was lovely to know that so much of what I ate and drank had come from the garden or hedgerow, but it wasn’t all plain sailing. What couldn’t I have that I would have liked?

    • Coffee: we have a big stock of bulk Spanish coffee beans which come in those plasticky ‘foil’ bags (recyclable).
    • Black tea: I’m currently drinking a spiced Pakistani tea which came in a cardboard box but with a plastic window (recyclable).
    • Salt: cardboard tube with plastic lid (recyclable)
    • Black pepper(corns): plastic bag (recyclable)
    • Milk: plastic bottle (recyclable).
    • Coulommiers cheese: plastic wrap (non-recyclable).
    • Greek yogurt: plastic pot (recyclable) and lid (non-recyclable) .
    • Butter: plastic wrap (non-recyclable), although we usually buy one in paper.
    • Dried apricots: plastic bag (recyclable).

    Did I fall off the wagon? Um, yes – with olive oil (recyclable plastic bottle)! I needed a small amount for cooking my omelette and couldn’t think of a way round that one. There was salt in the bread, too, as it had been made prior to my Plastic Free Day. Looking through our food cupboard, I realised that rice, pasta, grains and pulses would all have been off-limits, couscous being the only one in a cardboard box. Other things seemed to be a mix such as one crunchy granola in plastic, another in cardboard. I used to make granola and yogurt so perhaps it’s time to get back to that, as well as hunting down alternative brands or sources, especially for dairy produce. I know there is an argument that as individuals we are better addressing the big changes we can make in our lives (travel, energy use, diet, consumerist behaviour and the like) rather than worrying about every single yogurt pot but I think it’s important to look at the small things, too.

    That said, it’s also important to keep things in perspective. We buy olive oil in bulk, in five-litre containers that we then decant into a smaller (re-used) bottle; yes, it’s (recyclable) plastic, but is one bottle like that better or worse than five glass ones? It’s very easy to end up going round and round in moral circles, ending up far more dizzy than enlightened! Still, I really enjoyed that particular challenge and it’s given me a lot to think about. It’s all too easy at times to be frustrated, despondent and sad about the state of the planet and modern society and to feel a sense of helplessness and hopelessness, but I’m an optimist and a fidget who’d rather be doing something about a problem than sitting around dwelling on it or waiting for other people to sort it out. I know I am an infinitesimal drop in the ocean but as I’ve said many times, tiny drops together make vast oceans. In the same way, small footsteps lead to big journeys: sometimes there are pauses – even steps backwards – and huge obstacles to overcome but for me, it’s important to keep going, no matter how slowly or imperfectly. It isn’t always easy being green but it’s a challenge and an adventure that makes life interesting and rich in all the right ways. I like that very much. Time for the next step forward . . . 😊