Van-tastic

Since my last posting I can say that I have now had the dubious honour of driving the aforementioned site-van-with-the-doors-tied-shut-with-blue-rope-experience. Nowhere near as sexy as the Jimi Hendrix experience. In fact I have never felt quite so sorry for an object of mechanical persuasion in my life. Ever. It never leaves the site due to lack of MOT and inability to deal with the stress of  the open road. It can make it around the site (just) but quite frankly if I had my clutch foot any higher I would knee myself in the face. The mirrors aren't actually too bad. The windscreen wipers are for one - not attached, the other - hanging off. Not seeing this rabid flaw at first glance I naturally turned them on due to rain and yet was greeted by a scraping metal noise as wiper arms etched their way across my field of vision bladeless. I grimace in the vale of cringedom and desperately try to inactivate them, setting off the horn instead. The inside is plastered with mud around doors, wall, floor. A couple of bulky sheepskins vie for space with several toilet rolls on the passenger seat, with the entire motely crew vying for space individually (or as an underground subversive toilet roll / sheepskin collective) to thwart my progress by ramming themselves in the way of the gearshift and cause speed selecting mayhem. In combination with the face smashing potential of the clutch there is now the presence of the two passengers I am carrying to the garden making gear change more difficult. This is due to the knee of passenger two (now sat on all sheepskins I have lost track of the whereabouts of the toilet rolls) getting in  the way. The back is full of large empty plastic containers tied together like an eco-necklace for a giant, taking up the room we need to lob in a total of 65 kg of mixed veg. The steering seems OK and naturally I elect to not trust the brakes fully on this passion wagon of dreams. The doors untie themselves periodically flapping like a cyclist's coat in the wind and I pray we have not twatted someone in the face coming down the main track. I manage to wedge us horizontally outside the tool shed across the lane in a genius piece of reversing. Get out of the pickle I'm in by Yohan sticking his head out the window and directing, me sticking my head out the window and keeping my knee out of my ear and Paul directing from outside and even giving the van a final shove of encouragment up the lane. Ace.
Loading the van I notice muddy handprints have grappled its white flanks like someone has tried to mud wrestle out of it. In reality I work out that someone has been recycling bricks and loading it, hence the masses of muck all over it. We traverse back up top to unload our veg and I notice a sizeable hole in the floor to the right of the accelerator pedal. "That could be messy by jove!" I think just a few seconds before, as foreseen using my incredible foresight developed thorough many months of hard shamanic perception practise, that I am going to get covered in crap. Mud back sprays up through the hole from the off side wheel as it attempts to make a purchase on the muddy track and fails. It sprays majestically to face height and splats randomly over my hoody, coat, face and jeans. I long ago dispersed with daily washing so c'est la vie. I never started this for the glamour. I put the old girl back into the car park, minus her veg cargo with a sigh of relief. Might take the tractor next time.

Two weeks in

It's winter and that means lots of sorting out and clearing up jobs in the garden. We have been making large "doughnuts" of old straw around our fruit trees to put them to bed for the season. They look like they are settled in large nests or perhaps sporting an eco version of the Elizabethan ruff. A local thatcher provides the goods and we work the magic. We have bedded down our tay berries and raspberries amongst other soft fruit. Our forest garden will get a look in soon; it holds such delights as an almond tree, apricot tree and mulberry. The chickens set a new laying record this morning by firing out 27 eggs. Our WWOOFer Louise is now seen by me as the chicken whisperer of our feathered friends......
The cabin is feeling like home now with belongings ensconced and burner on the go. Moving my dreamcatcher has produced the ususal glut of weird dreams. Last night's effort was of being attacked in the head by Moon (one of my fellow apprentices) and a large caterpillar. It was disturbingly real, so much so that I was late for morning check in. This is where we sit and let everyone know how we are and anything we want to share. It's odd at first but you get right into it. However my tardiness was not the main topic of conversation as we were interrupted. We sit outside to check in. On benches. On bits of cardboard. And this morning a deer flew past our circle. Then another. Then another. In total around 8 belted past in a line and curved past us. It was like the Christmas Reindeer Cabaret all that was lacking was santa and a sleigh. The front runner made a break for the fence which surrounds E, a deer-proof fence apparently. It reminded me of the time my friend Tim-the-bong told me of running at the inner fence at Glastonbury (back in the days when you could) and getting nearly high enough to clear it.  Instead he cracked the top of his nose on it and slid down, clearly leaping was not his speciality. As he lay dazed and confused and slightly concussed a security guard in a 4 x 4 pulled up and rolled down the window. Eyeing Tim levelly he came out with the legend, "That's gonna hurt in the morning mate!" and then drove off leaving him to fend for himself and haul his own arse over the fence. In a similar fashion the deer didn't make it and stacked it down then pelted across the driveway over some alternative fencing into the sheep field. This time it made it but the smaller ones didn't and they stacked it. What a mess. They cannot bear to be contained. A consensus to open a few gates was reached so Prancer and Co could find their own way home. Haldon forest is teeming with deer, infact we ate road kill venison the first night I was here. It was delicious. We even ate it off the bone passing it aorund like a medieval banquet. The Embercombe minibus had found it dead on the road as they were heading out a few weeks back. Dan, my predecessor, had manfully stepped up to the challenge of removing the innards to allow the meat to keep and therefore be eaten. A first-time-hand at this, he drew his knife, dealt with it kindly, threw the deer into the back of the minibus washed his hands in a puddle and announced "Onwards! To the party!" or something similar, and off the merry band trundled as they had first intended. What a winner.
I left Embercombe for the first time since my arrival this weekend and headed south for the old Shire of Kernow, catching up with friends old and new. Wafted around Falmouth, walked a bit of the coast path, drank hot chocolate with marshmallows at The Sand Bar at Praa Sands (if you are ever there buy one of these they are amazing and I'm not even that keen on hot chocolate) and got smashed about in the surf like a mackerel in a tsunami. Even found time to visit Pengoon Farm, resplendent with mud, dog shit and questionable eggs, it brought back joyful memories, received two drumming lessons and watched the full "Ice" moon in all her glory with a bit of night wandering and star gazing. I felt slight trepidation at first. It was strange to be back in the old town like entering a hall of memories. But memories can be alright and they allow you to see how you've moved on when sometimes other people and things around you have not changed at all. I couldn't help but do my usual assesment of the size of the gene pool in certain areas. I particulalry remember the 13 year old lad sporting a crayfish on his T shirt behind me in queue at the supermarket with the unforgettable caption - "Prawn Star". Cornwall is unique and it's hard to explain how unless you've spent a bit of time submersed in it.
But now I'm back on the ranch and glad to be here. I spent the day making raised beds with some volunteers, whacking posts with a sledge hammer and making endless trips up the site to the workshop as we forgot drill bits, the right size nails and other things we needed. I comandeered a site bike and careered along half brakeless with the back wheel banging the back fork wondering if the wheel was simply set to spin off into the distance with me sat on nothing but air. The site van is in a similar state with the back doors held together with rope. I may learn to drive the red tractor soon......

Sheep, cyder, chips and my hut

The pace has eased off a little this week and I have been the orchestrator of my own evening time which has been welcome. The moon is slowly getting fuller and brighter, the sheep are still randomly blurting out their calls in the dark and making me jump out of my skin, particularly in the morning when I am half asleep passing their field. The two rams always look expectant and apart from carrying fine sets of dynamic curled horns they both sport resplendent chest wigs. They could bring the curly perm back into fashion. I think the reason they appear expectant is that the ewes are in the opposite field. And Jerry the farmer has recently been over and grabbed their undercarriages to pronounce them in fine working order which would unsettle any male on the receiving end. Jerry seems like a nice bloke (if you aren't a ram) so I introduced myself. He is our staunch supporter locally "Huzzah for Jerry!" and sits on our Council to represent the village of Ashton, our nearest neighbours. Not everyone loves us so. One particular female detractor who lives "across the valley" claims our outside lights resemble Junction 27 of the M5 (specifically) and constitute frightful  light pollution. She is a journalist for a particularly unsavoury tabloid, I won't mention it by name but it rhymes with gravy snail. So anyway, Jerry has enlisted my willing help for sheep shearing in the summer. I've told him I have never weilded the necessary tools before but this matters not. Once more, "Huzzah for Jerry!".
I have been scurrying round in the garden a bit and working with my first small groups of volunteers and I am learning a thing or two already. A chilli and lemon verbena harvest has produced some amazing and unintentionally festive decorations hanging in the dining yurt as they dry out for use in the kitchen. Christmas seems far away, however we did have a group outing to Teignmouth for fish and chips last night smacking us back into the reality of December. Sort of. We piled into the minbus and I carted us all down to the seaside. We introduced Jaro (Spanish) to haddock and chips and tried to re-introduce Yan (half Greek) to haddock and chips. The first time was all batter and no cod apparently. A shocking representation of English fayre. The shop was decorated with twinkly stuff and the seafront had Chrismas lights shaped like waves. We tucked in (Jaro drew the line at mushy peas) and threw down an ice cream too. Fat junkies the lot of us after all the organic produce we nibble daily. Everyone was happy with the food and we trotted gaily down the seafront and watched the moon on the sea and someone started a game of off-ground touch. Some stupid photos later and we trundled home. Highlights of the journey back were local farm's Christmas lights, a humpback bridge and an artfully placed bench strategically erected to enable admiration of the A38 below. Splendid.
In other news, I am now transferring to my cabana. It turns out it is under not one but two oak trees. I can see the sunset over the hills and watch little cows in silhouette mosying along the ridge. I have swept the floors, lit the fire and scrubbed at the windows with cider vinegar. I smell like a dusty dream. It is an amazing space and I feel very lucky. When I go in and sit down I lose time and find it hard to leave. There is a cob bench built in beside the woodburner and a sink and stove. The mattress is even orthopaedic. I can't believe it. Vic's awesome hurricane light was sparked up tonight (German made) to send its glow about the place. No electric you see. But totally cosy and soon to be set up properly as home.
The apple pressing has finished now. We hauled the last of the half rotten contenders into water barrels yesterday and through the chipper they went to be squeezed of their goodness. Then down to the old oak whisky barrell to fill her up. We've got stocks to last us some time. Jaro told me to climb the barrell and listen at the top. Seemed strange but up I scrambled and lo! the lively, crackly fizz of the old boys breaking down into cydery goodness. I knelt with my cheek on the barrell, listening. Sweet cydery sounds for a girl from Somerset. There was nearly a tear in my eye. We are angling for a "last of the apples" cyder party, yet to be confirmed. My palms are black from the tanins and will remain so for some time. The hedge monkey returns.....

Being here

So learning is definitely going to be a major part of my year to come here at E. The last time I had to apply my head to so much learning I was at college sousing most of the experience in booze. Not so at this stage in my life with a combination of hands on and theoretical learning to absorb. There is so much to take in. On Wednesday I was introduced to a model of human dynamics and the roles that people may take on in certain situations such as "rescuer" or "victim". This can be used in communities to ease communication and support people's development. It's not something I have heard of before but I am open to consider the idea. I have been learning how to make sourdough bread from ferment and how to hammer out a piece of metal into a hook and fire iron in a blacksmith's iron age pit forge. I have been to my fellow apprentice's evening of music, poetry and spoken word. Here I sung accapella for the first time in front of a group of people who I don't really know. I have walked through the gardens with Jo and Dan and talked about plants and plans for the coming year and jobs to fill the winter months. I have cosied up on the floor of  a yurt with flames flickering behind my eyelids and rain gently pattering on the roof. I am acclimitising to so many ideas around me and a fascinating mix of skills and experience in the people I am sharing my time with day to day. I am getting used to the great energy and enthusiasm amongst people at E. I am loving people's jokes and sense of humour. I am loving sharing my meals and coffee breaks with people and not driving in a car all over South Glos each day. I am learning more recipes and ways to cook and enjoying the beautiful fresh food that comes out of the gardens.
I am remembering how to use an axe and how to layer up in the right way against the cold winds. I am remembering that thick, dry socks are hot currency. I am remembering that moving quickly keeps you warm. I am remembering to watch out for the moon and listen to the winds and watch the weather rolling in over the hills. I am starting to carry loads of plasters for my hands which crack with abandon in cold weather. I am trying hard to find my night vision again, spending the darker nights walking like a zombie with my hands outstretched in front of me pawing the air as the night hangs around me like bag. I am remembering that a bit of mud gets everywhere and that this is OK. I am remembering the things I used to do most days without thinking. I realise chocolate is hot currency. And so is cheese.
I must go and wash, as its easy to lose even the time to do this most basic of things as you get distracted by a book or a conversation or something you remember you had better do before bed. These short nights make for much flailing-hands walking, but also allow time to chat to the WWOOFers and other people living here. This season is quiet time, with no visitng schools or groups to fill the place up and a general winding inward for the winter. Soon I will move into my new wooden cabin, me and Dan will do some cob work this week and lime washing too. The fire flue rests on a beam which is less than ideal so we'll be moving that too. The ceiling may get painted. It's going to get a spruce up of some kind. Many things, many things exciting things to do.........

Arriving

After a stormy night I am greeted with sunshine as I drive south for the Devon moors. The mood on site is happy after a party the night before to celebrate a birthday and people are moving slowly but geared up for the planned walk taking in the scenery and the local pub. We gather and string out down the track heading for the woods and onwards into fields and open space. The views are wonderful and Dan scampers off at intervals to gather wild mushrooms for identificaiton later which seem to be growing in abundance. We trek past horses, trees, hills and more fields. Tom the dare devil leaps onto a rope swing across the river that looks perilously thin at the top with "Well I can only get wet........". Tom survives his leap of faith. We cheer. Walking provides a great space to chat to several people and get some beautiful views of the countryside around. Despite being here before I haven't really explored much around Embercombe. The pub appears and its time to take the weight off. Later we all eat together and peopele give their thoughts about Dan, who he is, their time together and what they will miss. Also their hopes for the future. The mood is light however with lots of laughter and it seems to be a great end to a weekend of celebrating different occasions. My first day has been fantastic, tomorrow I begin my year as an apprentice.
I awake the next day to realise I have been dreaming of oak and ash trees, the oak tall, gnarled and cracked and the ash trees releasing thousands of seeds which I run through like a huge wave. We check in, as happens each work day, in a circle to talk about where we are all at. I am lucky to be part of a bushcrafting session this first day with the current and previous apprentices. Our predecessors share their skills and we learn to sharpen and handle knives and then we retreat to the woods for fire building. I create my first matchless fire using a fire steel and cotton wool wrapped up in hay. It's a small miracle to see the spark become a flame and take hold and know that I have created this. I change pace on Tuesday by helping clean the main building and spending the afternoon de-seeding leek flower heads and labelling apple juice. Apple pressing has been a major operation of recent weeks and there's still a 90 gallon barrell to fill. The previous night we did a few presses by lamplight in the fast descending temperatures. It gives you the added joy of black hands from the tanins in the apple pulp but imagining a good glass of cyder or apple juice as the fruits of your labours helps smooth the way. With a team effort and a high comedy barrell-rinsing exercise we are there and can retreat to the warmth of the dining yurt.
Another person leaves on Monday night and another special meal is shared. There is a constantly shifting community here which makes it interesting and always unique. I am sure many hellos and goodbyes will be said each month along with many hugs. There is definitely an extended family which gravitates in and out like one big living breathing organism. There are many stories to be shared and many skills to be shown. Already I am glad to be one of the newest members of this community, listening, learning, hoping, dreaming.

Leaving

I think I may have made this most recent move in my life with less drama than previous decampments. Well, I'll re-phrase; I know I have. There was still the usual frantic rummaging around in my room, leaping over the futon bed like a dog taking part in an agility trial and both hands burrowing like a mole on speed in my various boxes and bags. Vicki and Toby were patient with my growls and prowls about the house looking for keys, phone charger, wallet and anything useful which naturally got swallowed in the detritus of my less useful belongings. Occasionally Merryn, my ten month old neice, was sat on things but more often than not I couldn't even blame the curiousity of the baby and it was just me being scatty.
I ran my final errands around town buying socks and soap and eventually gave up and decamped to the Wildlife Photographer of the Year Exhibition at the city museum. I love to marvel at the miracles of nature and felt I should take myself beyond my minor gripes with packing and literally look at the bigger picture. As always I was inspired, moved to tears and left deep in thought at some of the images presented so beautifully. I was drawn to one image in particular of "Migaloo" taken by an Australian photographer. Migaloo is a rare white humpback whale photographed from an aerial view to show him cleaving through his watery world. Migaloo doesn't really blend in with the crowd. He's bright white for a start. And huge. Amazingly, when Migaloo makes his move to begin his migration his exit has been pre-empted. Every year the Australian government puts in place legislation to ensure that a 500m exclusion zone is respected around the whale to allow him to proceed safely on his way. This fact brought me to tears as I realised how much more we could do to protect the natural world if only the intentions were there. Go well Migaloo.
I wandered back to my car and headed for home, only to be caught in an unexpected surge of football supporters all leaving the Saturday afternoon match at Ashton Gate. As I inched my way along the river I resisted the urge to swear, letting people in and accepting the potentially hour long crawl. Strangely I suddenly felt that this was precious time, trapped as I was in my metal box which has been part of my work for the last few months, it suddenly felt like a retreat, somewhere to consider my new future looming large in the foreground. I watched the red lights of the car in front merge with the glare from a streetlight and it was suddenly like the world had shifted. It was strange and magical and I realised suddenly I was leaving again. I burst into tears and sat with a wet face watching the column of traffic before me. A mini flood really compared to past crying sessions which have carried me through several motorway junctions at a time. It was necessary and part of the process and I didn't feel deeply sad or lost but really the opposite. I was surely going to miss my home in Bristol but my new horizons were just startting to appear.