Rohan Anderson's Blog, page 7

Help Wanted

For most people in Australia there are two places where the majority of food are purchased. Coles and Woolworths. Sure there are a few other places but even blind Freddy can see this powerful duopoly has the food market well and truly cornered.

For those people in Melbourne that are fed up but want to be well fed, I offer you our veg boxes as an alternative. They’re full of fresh picked organic produce. Its an alternative option if you wish not to support major corporations. You instead are supporting Farmer Rod who is close to retirement. You’re supporting my family by providing as with income. Your supporting your body by fuelling it with real food. And you’re supporting the ideals of a better world, where we eat food grown close to our city, food thats grown organically and naturally. The veg box system is very simple. You order online, it gets picked and delivered to four drop off points in Melbourne, you then take it home, wash it and eat it.

I know you’re out there.

I know you give a shit about good food. I appreciate your love but we need your support. Please tell your mum, your dad, your brothers and sisters, your friends and enemies and your local school crossing lady. Use the most powerful tool you have, social media. Spread the word. Tell them about this food option.

We can only continue to deliver this alternative of non duopoly food with your support. Two weeks ago I delivered the boxes to just over 20 families. I’ can’t continue to operate on such low numbers, it will barley cover van hire and fuel to the city. Please help us.

Much Love.

 

Ro

 

The veg boxes contain food grown in the rich red volcanic soil of the central highlands. Its the beginning of the high growing season so even though there is good variety on the boxes now, it will improve as the season continues. You will currently find our boxes will contain a mix of, zucchini, broccoli, carrot, cucumber, cabbage, cauliflower, potato, kale, chard, lettuce, turnip, parsnip, beetroot, and soon to be included corn, tomato, pumpkin and fruit such as apples, pears and plums (pending availability). The retail price is $55 which covers delivery and overheads and staff payment.  Its good value for a box of certified organic vegetables. 

What if

What if you depended on a crop for your livelihood, for your very survival. Imagine if it was so important that if it were to fail, the family you work to provide for will face a dire food shortage during the oncoming winter. Its an intimidating thought, but thankfully for most of us it’s not a reality.

Many cultures around the globe exist in this manner or close to it. Us westerners though, we’ve got it well sorted out. The mega food system looks out for us. It caters for us, ensures we have all the food we can stomach. Sure there are a few corners cut, the odd chemical added, a few bursts of carbon emissions, one or two unhappy farm animals, its the system thats helped make the population explode, and thats a good thing right? More people, more workers, stronger economy. Thats whats important for the future…right? Well I disagree. I disagree with every ounce of my body. And I have a few spare ounces.

So I removed myself as much as I practically could from the system. I figured that if one is to lose faith in a religion, then it’s ones duty to disconnect with the church. So I’m out on my own, humming some sort of a new gospel song (no doubt slightly out of key). My church is my garden, the fields where I hunt, the bush I forage, and the waters I fish. My alter is a wobbly kitchen bench that I fashioned from timber I scrounged at the tip, adhering to my approach of living off the crumbs of society. So far the new religion seems to be doing ok. There has been some persecution from the non-believers and one or two comments of disapproval about the choice of religious apparel (cap, dirty drill shirt and dirtier jeans), but all in all it’s doing well. Actually thats not an entirely true statement. There have been a few hiccups. The god of this religion hasn’t been playing fair of late. And this here parishioner has a feeling of discontent!

Summer is the most important season. Warm sunlight the key to successful photosynthesis, and of course the warming of the soil. It is these precious months that I grow as much storable food as possible. Making the most of the fine weather, I also grow an abundance of summer veg to feed us on those warm days.

But lately the old god of nature has been testing us. You’ve felt a strong hot wind right? Well here on the hill, the hot winds seem to be hotter and harder. They’ve hit so hard that the plants have been drained of moisture and cooked. Leaves burnt by hot wind. The sunlight has been so harsh that it melted candles left outside.

All the work I put into the bean crop has been compromised. Just before the borloti was due to flower the heat wave came in and belted with volcanic fury. Zucchini has been flattened, as has the corn. I’m hoping its all repairable, I have a decent supply of love. I’m hoping it can bring some of these plants back. To add salt to the wound, the warm weather seems to have encouraged holiday season cabbage moths, who on having such a frolicking good time have left eggs all over my broccoli which hatched and baby caterpillars devoured the tasty leaves within days.

Imagine though, really try and imagine if you where in the situation where this crop was part of a future food supply that would keep you and your family feed through winter, and now its in jeopardy. Scary huh.

There are some good outcomes from the heat. The plants that I allowed to go to seed have mostly cured and are ready to be stored or replanted. There seems to me to always be an upside to the downside.

So very far removed

I’ve come to realise the I’ve been on the outer for so long now that the inside seems to make little sense.

A few moments have presented themselves of late, moments that lead me to think about the person I used to be, the lifestyle I used to lead and where I find myself this very day. A few chance meetings with various folk has shown me the ravine of contrast in how lives are lead.  The contrast in what we see as valuable, and what we aspire to achieve, receive and acquire. I cannot divulge what these chance encounters involved or with who. I cannot outline either parties personal choices in life, understanding that if this information were to be shared on such a forum there would be great debate and possibly damming retribution.

I can however say that I am becoming more and more convinced that where we are heading as a race of animals is a bad place. I can say without fear of retribution, I can declare without a second guess, that the western culture, the culture that has spread globally will sound the downfall for the race of man as we know it.

There seems to be very little evidence of holding back or slowing down the consuming. Although there are some in the public arena that are asking questions, or are actively trying to make change, the sad reality is that it’s the mega numbers of humans that are just ticking along, enjoying the ride, mindlessly working the machine. This my brothers and sisters, is what we have become. One giant machine. Billions of us.

We measure success in monitory terms. In ownership of wealth. We display our wealth by the brand of car we drive, the logo on our shirts the label on our footwear. You can gauge a persons success by the restaurant they dine at, the theatre they attend and the golf course they play. We idolise people as if they where Gods, when in fact they are all just as us, human when they feed, poo, fart and wee.

We still live by the approach of use and discard, with so many unnecessary things that adorn our houses, cars and offices. As advanced and modern as we are we continue to judge people in an archaic way, still defining race, religion or sexual preference and then making judgements of other humans based on these categories. The divide between rich and poor is the greatest in human history, and continues to extend.

We follow the next trend like sheep to a feed lot, be it fashion, hobby or food. Fermenting is rad, beards are still in, but catch on dude, foam on a plate it so passé. In a desperate attempt to be unique we embrace the likes of artisan, boutique, sustainable, gourmet and bespoke.

You may think I sound cynical or angry. You’ve made the right assumption.

Do you think anyone needs to be accountable? We’re all accountable. All of us.

So what are we to do? How many people are mindful enough to firstly identify there is something drastically wrong with the current system, and secondly do something, anything to make a difference.

After all we can all say… “It’s my planet too you know.”

 

 

Sharing skills in Sydney

Small and sweet. Short blonde hair, cut to a bob. Lime green eyes, innocent and pure. A consistently grubby face, dirty and grimy. Thats my little girl. My youngest. This morning we walked her to her first day of school. It all begins from here. For years to come she will learn what society deems as important and necessary. At the home front, I will continue to teach her things that maybe overlooked by the education system. Some values, ethics and the skills of practiculture. Living and working with natures wonders.

Learning is something that we should never stop doing. An obvious thing to state? Well for while there I guess I stopped learning. I found myself in quite a holding pattern. I’d go to work, earn money and entertain myself with passive activities. As my life moved towards living a more practiculture existence, I had to reconsider my approach to learning. Most everything I know about this lifestyle has come about from trial and error, in fact more error than trial. But I like it that way. The first chorizo I made, I put in too much salt. The first time I grew garlic I didn’t dry it properly before storing and most of it rotted. Crops have failed, structures have crumbled and ducks have eluded my shot. All in all though, I have come out a learned individual. I’m no expert in any one thing, and I do not profess to have all the answers nor do I know everything, but I do know what works for me. If there is something I become interested in, I’ll endeavour to learn the process, understand its purpose.

Passing on what we learn is vitally important. If you consider where us humans are today compared with say 100 years ago, our way of living has vastly changed. I’m not saying it’s better, it’s just thats its significantly changed. In fact much of what I do is derived from an age passed. I cure meat, store food for the winter, I grow and harvest, hunt and fish. In a few weeks time I’ll be talking on these topics, my approach to practiculture and why I do what I do. I’d love to share with you Sydneysiders what I’ve learnt. I’ll even go as far as showing you how to skin, gut and butcher a wild shot rabbit (of which I’ll be bringing on flight from home!)

Wildwon, are co-presenting an event with Sydney Living Museums, ‘Stories from the Cellar’. The event I’ll be talking a is the Elizabeth Bay House, down in the cellars, where I’ll talk and demonstrate along with other people sharing their knowledge on food preservation, preparation and creation. There will be cheese makers, meat curer’s, fish smokers and chefs. All sharing their valuable knowledge.

Where did that man go?

As beautiful as it is living here in the rolling green paddocks, tucked away on the side of our hill, it’s also rather nice to have a change of scenery. The first few weeks of January are well suited to spend some time on the coast. The breeze off the ocean is often cool, and if the weather turns extremely hot, it’s the place you want to reside. We didn’t plan to be away during one of the hottest weeks in recent years, it just happened that way. But I’m glad we where housed right on the beach in our little caravan when the hot weather arrived.

The north wind blew hot. The sun belted down with ultraviolet fury and punished the beach sand, turning it hot like a bed of coals, so hot that bare feet was not an option. It only took me one experience of burning feet to forever remember to wear my shoes when heading beachside. Everyday our fellow holiday makers hit the waves, boogie boards, surf boards, board shorts and bikinis. Zinc covered faces, sunscreen greased bodies and bright beach tents rattled in the wind. Joyous screaming kids running from waves, dogs barking at balls and the smell of BBQ. It’s the Aussie beach experience. Its lovely.

The beach break for me means seafood. All types of sea food. I fish and I forage. This trip I was very lucky to be in possession of Dad’s bamboo surf rod he build the year I was born, 1976. The rod is a perfect example of Dad’s meticulous attention to detail. The people who know my Dad would agree, he’s no Rex Hunt when it comes to fishing. I reckon he had more fun making the rod than fishing with it. It’s a beautifully crafted rod. Strong and very functional. Each loop perfectly set and glued, the handle lovingly made with marine rope, tightly wound and glued. It’s a rod that gets people talking, and sure enough garnished some attention amongst other campers. Dad told me that the rod has never caught him a fish. Instead he’d stored it in garages over the years, ensuring its immaculate condition. Why he lent it to me I’ll never know. I’m a user of good tools. I like to set these tools into action, use them for their original intention.

My first afternoon on the beach was one of fine weather. I waded out to the breaking waves, the water initially cold and fresh, hell for my nether regions. I’d rigged up with an large anchor sinker and two wire leaders, baited with blue bait. Swinging that rod back for the first time was exciting. I know, silly to be excited about a some old fishing rod. But this was the one my Dad made. It was family. Back the bamboo bent, my arms reached forward with all my might stopping to allow the sinker and line to fly, and out she did. What distance the line went! Better feeling than any new rod could offer. Maybe I was just being sentimental, but this thing just flew. My Dad had made a superb fishing rod. Purpose made.

I fished for hours, on that beach, the odd man out. Most other people surfed and swam. I fished the waters on the edge of the break, away from where waves were worth catching. The fishing wasn’t amazing, but I did manage a few mullet and one lovely Australian Salmon. With the poor fishing, my darling Kate organised a few hours spell on a charter boat. She said it was a gift, but also dropped a comment with her serious voice… “bring me home some fish… I want fish”. With the detail clear, I fished hard and returned triumphant. A haul of sweet tasting flathead, a few dog sharks, mackerel and my fist ever snapper. We ate the fish very simply. Cooked with butter and olive oil, sometimes with a coat of flour, always with butter, lemon, salt and pepper. The whole family enjoyed the fresh taste of each difference species. Ooohing and aaaahhhing over the beautiful tastes. It’s great to see my kids eating food like this. Fingers grabbing meat straight off the bone. Food so fresh and natural. It makes sense. Sense in a shambolic world is what keeps me going.

After a few more sessions on Dad’s fishing rod, I decided the remainder of the week would be well spent on other duties. The kids and I, along with some visiting friends hit the rocks in search of a feed of mussels. The tide was well and truly out, but still too dangerous for kids to forage past the intertidel zone. So I picked some myself and returned to the van to cook them with garlic, butter and white wine. For extra zing I added some American flare, a seasoning mix called Old Bay which I picked up on my travels last year. Jack and I found it difficult to stop devouring the pot of mussels. The kids gave up trying them so it was really our duty to eat them. The juices at the bottom of the pot where soaked up with bread. The taste of ocean.

The unavoidable end to the break finally came, we packed up the old van and headed north. On the drive home, along the winding Great Ocean Road my mind drifted. I though about Dad’s beautiful hand made fishing rod. That rod represented a time past. Was it a time where men did things of real value. Where men preferred real adventure to virtual adventure. Man is different now. Facets of the old Australian male have changed. Is he redundant? Has a new man taken his place? Does he still desire to make things of purpose? Or does he prefers to buy things already made. Are certain skills being lost? Sure some are being revived, but most will fade. The spirit of adventure may fade for some, replaced by responsibility of paying back loans for stuff. Is that now what we must accept as the norm?

When you spend some time in a van you’re forced to live with less. Its a great experience. You can re-evaluate what is actually important. What you can survive with, and without. Its been a nice start to the year. Its been a nice living reminder to keep up the lifestyle I committed to. I life of living with less, using less, impacting less and living off the crumbs of society.

The Return of The Whole Larder Love Veg Boxes – AND MEAT!!!!

Elsewhere in Australia its been a stinking hot start to the summer. However, here deep in the rolling hills of the Central Highlands, its been a slow start to summer. The vegetables have struggled to get motivated, but finally they’re growing as each warm day passes. Putting my talk/ideas/belief about sustainable food into action, we’ll once again be delivering fresh organic vegetables down to Melbourne for those people looking to tick their ‘good food’ boxes. This produce is grown just over an hour out of the city, its certified organic and its picked fresh based on your order. Its delicious too!

For those not aware of the system, let me explain.

We sell two boxes of real food.

A box of assorted organic vegetables (and some fruit) ($55 – approx. 10-15kg)

A box of Free Range Pork and meat (sourced from the Farmers Larder) ($57 – approx. 2-2.5kg)

What do you need to do?

Place your order via the shop website (click here)

The veg will then get picked in the following two days

We then deliver your box one of the four locations in Melbourne (click here)

You cook and enjoy the veg!

Simple enough system?

Some things you may not be used to if you’ve just been eating supermarket veg and meat.

1. Its organic veg – zero chemicals

2. Its picked fresh the day before you collect it thus ensuring major culinary delight

3. The veg will vary in size shape and show all signs of nature

4. The veg isn’t washed until you wash it in your kitchen saving being washed multiple times

5. The veg will change each week as the season progresses. i.e. you’re eating seasonally

6. The veg hasn’t travelled interstate or overseas

7. The veg doesn’t come wrapped in plastic, we re-use styrofoam boxes week in week out

8. The meat is all free range, free of preservatives and hormones and tastes like meat should

We have some simple rules. Please arrive at one of the four locations. If you fail to pick up your box we donate it to a family that needs it. We don’t deliver to your door. We will provide a veg box hotline so you can call to advise if you’re running late.

Please bring back your empty veg box as we’ll re-use it and fill it up the next time you order from us.

THE MEAT PACK!!!!!

For $57, you’ll get a pack of 2-2.5kg of tasty free range, local pork direct from us, small farmers producing artisan meat 10 mins north of Daylesford.

An examples of the type of cuts you can expect to find in the pack include a mix of preservative free sausages made with fresh herbs and spices, pork belly, chops, steaks, cutlets, mince, hock and/or ribs.

Please let us know if you’re gluten free (as our sausages are made the traditional British way – with bread crumbs)

Delivered in refrigerated van – we suggest you bring an esky bag or box to transport home.

If you’re keen and as excited as we are then place your order here.

We make the first delivery on the 25th January, then every Saturday until the growing season comes to a close around June.

Remember guys. This system only works if we get support. Unfortunately we no longer offer the Daylesford Organic Eggs as that family decided to close shop after a decade of trying to make a simple living from providing organic eggs to the city. Small holders will only survive with your support. So please tell your family, your friends and even your co-workers about the system. Lets make it work!

the golden goose

The killing day had finally come. My friend’s geese had matured and where now ready to dispatch, pluck, clean and package. The intention was that some of them would end up as roasting birds for Christmas day. I’ve not yet cooked with geese but I’ve heard it’s a lovely roasting bird, so I accepted the offer to work in exchange for a handful of roasting birds as payment.

White down feathers flew through the air, pure, white, just like snow. The home made feather plucker spun on high rotation attached to the old electric drill, mounted on some car ramps. It couldn’t get any more hillbilly. But it worked. My friends ingenuity may not look pretty but it’s usually functional. We soon got into a rhythm, finding our roles and working through bird after bird. It became slightly mechanical. I thought for a moment that I’d turned into the person that I didn’t want to be. Had I become desensitised to killing? It’s been many years of literally killing things to eat them. Making the choice to discontinue outsourcing my killing meant the only way to acquire meat was to do the dirty work myself. Holding the large birds, alive, then slicing their throat, the warm blood covering my wrist, the last vestiges of life wriggling from the animal. There is no way I could be desensitised from that.

By midday the killing floor was covered with a mixture of white feathers and rich red blood. It’s a reality that’s not really promoted at the supermarket, where most of us buy our Christmas meat. I guess any company that’s involved in the business of selling food would be mad to promote the reality of how said meat came to be in our shopping trollies. Most people in the disinfected western world, would not give a second thought to the reality that an animal was slaughtered. It’s just there, in the supermarket fridge, wrapped in plastic. What seems to be most important is the price per kilo/pound. There is no information on the meat as to how the animal was raised. Where its travels from. What it’s been fed. What medications its been treated with. Its a skewed reality.

In Australia, Christmas holidays mean hot summer. But it’s at this time of year that snow covered decorations adorn houses, offices and schools. Snow in summer? It doesn’t make sense. Sure up in America, Canada, England maybe. But down here it’s hot as hell for Christmas. So why do we have this skewed view of a snowy Christmas? Why do we have a skewed view of what’s important about Christmas food? Food in general? Why is this reality not known to the vast majority of people in the western world. Why does it anger people so much when I point this reality out?

Christmas is a wonderful time of year. It started as a celebration of the birth of Jesus. Whether you believe that or not, thats the reason why the 25th of December is celebrated. Can I ask though, has it turned into a celebration of consumerism? Walking through the isles of a department store to buy a kid’s present is overwhelming. There seems to be a lot of unnecessary stuff around this time of year. I’m sure we could live without it. There seems to be a lot of stuff made in the asian region that ends up being purchased, used for a short while then disposed of. It’s all heavily reliant on natural resources to create. Sometimes I wonder if its all down hill from here. Have we lost the plot completely? There will be some people that will consider it brutal for me to have killed live birds to eat. I’m sure there are people that will see me as barbaric. That is nothing I can change. Other people’s views will be just that. Their views. But the reality is that I know the reality. I have blood on my hands.
I’m looking forward to roasting a few birds on Christmas day. I’m looking forward to celebrating with my daughters. I’m looking forward to that afternoon siesta. I think Christmas is a beautiful thing to celebrate. I just don’t want to celebrate consumerism.
I wish everyone the best for the holiday season. I would like to thank many of you for your beautiful words of encouragement and support over the year. I thank you for your letters telling me of how your lives have been influenced one way or another. I want to thank you for giving me hope. That’s the best gift. Until next year. Much love.

Used to be and yet to come

The chirping of new life sounded. It’s sweet sound has powers. Power so tenacious it has potential to bring a grown man to tears. Jack had been taking our eggs, with permission of course. Apparently he acquired some sort of incubator and has been hatching a plan to raise some fresh birds for his patch. As a sign of gratitude he arrived one day, as he does, with something for us. Sometimes he’ll bring us a few tomato, a zucchini or three. There’s always something coming from his garden to ours. One day last summer he even brought us a wheel barrow full of giant pumpkins! This visit however, the gift was not a barrow laden with nuclear powered pumpkin, instead it was the tiniest of creatures, miniature in size, humungous in potential. Jack’s small cardboard box was filled with the chirp chirp of new life. A handful of chicks and duckings huddled in the corner, keeping each other warm and seemingly providing each other with moral support. We’re thankful to Jack for his gift. We also had a delivery of our own to be thankful for.

Keeping chooks has been a priority for me over the last decade. When I first moved out of the city I kept a few in our town backyard. In recent houses, I’ve kept a few chooks, with the exception of a few rentals. When I was a kid my uncle and I built a chook house we called ‘the hilton’ due to its over engineered construction. He welded the frame and we set out a concrete slab. Talk about over kill. But the chooks seemed happy and returned us with eggs for the kitchen. 25 years later and I still have these feathered beasts in my world. This winter they’ve been a real Godsend. I’ve been playing catch up in the veg garden since we moved house in winter. The chooks filled the gaps for us food wise. This past winter I enjoyed many chard, chorizo and egg breakfasts. I’ve made many pastas, shaksouka, tortilla esponola, aioli, mayonnaise, quiche, frittata you name it! Kate’s baked hundreds of sweet treats for the kids; cakes, slices and endless morning pancakes. Chooks are an integral part of surviving for us. We’d be lost without them.
It’s very cliche that we associate new born chicks with spring, but its one of those rare cliches that is honest. It’s in late winter and early spring that ‘Rooster Cogburn’ gets to work on the ladies. Last year he seemed a bit awkward and kept to himself. But this year he’s struggled to keep it in his pants. In fact he’s been behaving like a randy teenager on schoolies week. The act itself seems rather brutal, nonetheless the ladies don’t seem to mind! With a shuffle and ruffle of feathers they go back about their business, like nothing happened. Absolutely zero pillow talk and definitely no cuddles.

One of the hens became clucky, just as she did last year. Maybe she’s a White Suffolk, I’m not exactly sure what breed she is, to me its more valuable to know that she’s a working chook. To the kids shes known as ‘Peacock’, which makes me laugh, not so much because of the name but more so at us adults and our high an mighty ways “don’t ever name your farm animals” I get told. I’m not in the habbit of naming farm animals (apart from Rooster Cogburn…come on I didn’t have a choice with that one), but kids will be kids, I let them have their way, especially when no harm is done. So here is Peacock getting all cosy on some eggs, and with this springtime habit well set in, I took it as a fair sign that it was time to mark a dozen eggs and sit an wait. In 20 days more or less, fingers crossed we might have some baby chooks.

Weeks past. The hen sat very diligently on those eggs. Darting off only when when I’d fed them, even then sometimes she refused to get off her cosy spot at all. Her commitment was admirable. I didn’t keep a record of how many days exactly she’d been sitting, I just figured on investigating the progress as the weeks got closer to the 20 day mark. When it did come to that time I checked on her collection of warm eggs more ardently. Nothing at first, but sure enough, one sunny spring day whilst tending the patch, I heard the faint chirp of new life. The other hens seemed to be acting odd too, they were aware something was brewing. I handled that girl gently, and underneath her maternal feathers was a sweet little chick, all new and clumsy. What a beautiful sight to see. It’s gems like this, moments like this that make everything worthwhile.

The experience gives you hope. When a great deal of the world just doesn’t make sense. When you question what you do and why you do it, it’s moments like this that provide some comfort. Its a reminder that life is beautiful. Its unfathomable magic. All the information to make that animal is in those eggs. The eggs we whisk, boil, bake and fry. Nature is far more complex and advanced than we can imagine. Yet by living this mad western life, we treat her with disregard. It’s beautiful to see that furry bundle of hope, chirping in my hands. Tender. Vulnerable. So full of potential.
It’s a pity keeping chooks isn’t as popular as it once was. I guess it’s easier to buy cheap eggs and chicken products from supermarkets and take away places. But for ages humans have relied on these beautiful garbage disposal units. We’ve loved them as part of our gardens, part of our lives. It used to be most backyards in Australia had a chook shed, maybe that tradition may return.

abogado del diablo

Modern human. A poison to this earth.

Last week I had a few challenging days. Personally challenging. I’d been trying to make a point, as serious point, but alas my execution was flawed and the message was lost as a result. My passion morphed into anger and frustration at ‘the situation’ (see above) and I in turn manifested into a wild beast. I felt cornered, like a bobcat stuck up a tree I had no option but to attack to protect myself. It was not a pretty few days.

My mind was working overtime, my emotions drained. It’s funny how one can be effected by people they have never meet in the real world. On a personal level I take it pretty hard. Especially when the comments are derogatory, unfounded and completely far from reality. Many of us have two lives. Online and real world. They sometimes intermingle, sometimes online can manifest into real world, and my real world life is told as a story online. A double edged sword you might say.

Troubled by what had passed, I decided some time out in the paddocks would be of value. I had to figure out the best way to deal with this seemingly ongoing challenge. With my back resting against the fence, the cool grass as a cushion I sat with my eyes closed, trying to make sense of the previous few days. It’s a nice place to get calm. For a seemingly non descript boring paddock it actually has some nice natural luxuries. Like the ever present wind making its way up the hill, it gently whistles through the fence that supports my back. The long spring grass clumsily floats and dips like an ocean. Meager rays of sunlight warm my portly flannelette clad body. It’s far from people, it’s the real world, and it’s a great place to get your thinkin’ on.

In this paddock, I pondered what had past, I thought about how I could have better dealt with it. It’s a bugger admitting your flaws. I’m riddled with them. Accepting who I am, what my make up is, is important for my development as a contributing human, a citizen a member of the family.

And that’s where I was lead. Down the path to why I’m here writing this piece in the first place. Why I wrote a book. Why I write a blog. I’m passionate about introducing positive change to my lifestyle, a lifestyle mix of modern living and old time ways. I’m passionate about the natural world we share. I hurt knowing what we’re doing to this planet.

How I used to treat this planet, how I used to consume was horrible. I feel blessed that I eventually identified it as a problem, that I identified that I was contributing to the problem and I feel fortunate that I became aware and concerned enough to take steps to change. And for those that aren’t a fan of me, let me remind you, that I openly admit I’m not perfect. But I make a great effort to edge closer to the idea of living ‘self sufficiently’. And this new argument about how much one is, or is not, perfect in regards to being ‘sustainable’ ‘self sufficent’ is where the real argument gets lost in all the fuss. The spotlight should always remain on the biggest problem of all. The fact that modern human living, western human living, is a poison to this earth and poisonous to us.

It’s a hard pill to swallow. At first most people will deny it. Then they’ll become defensive of the modern way of living they embrace, because after all, to change it would mean to be uncomfortable, inconvenienced. I wish it wasn’t the case. But even blind Freddy can see the impact our lifestyle has on the earth. It’s in bad shape.

The good thing is that it’s pretty effortless to introduce small changes in the way we live, changes that will have amazing positive benefits and ultimately reduce our impact on environment. No one would make change if I said that you have to never own a car, go live in a cave and chew raw vegetables. But if I was to show a person how easy it is to grow most of their food, how to cook with that great home raised produce, a person would be more receptive to the idea, yes?

There are a million ways to reduce your impact. We consume so much stuff. Not just food, I’m talking about stuff, useless stuff. Like christmas decorations gone mad, electronic kitchen gadgets, new cars, mega houses, ever changing fashion. I saw this week a remote control temperature monitor device for your BBQ. Unbelievably mad.

We can survive with much more basic stuff. We can re-use.

These past few days Ive been pulling nails out of lumber I picked off a bonfire pile. I’m using the timber to make garden bed frames and the frame for my poly tunnel, but regardless of what I’m using it for, the point I’m trying to make is, I could have bought brand new timber from the lumber store, but instead I’m reusing. Does that make a difference? Well as a bare minimum, it’s one less tree harvested. One man cannot make change by reusing old timber, I get that. But if many people made those kind of choices, would that make a difference? Do we care enough to make a difference? Will we only make change when we are directly effected? I wonder how people that have been effected by climate catastrophe, disaster, or hardship feel about the condition of our planet. I wonder if they think we should make change? Government delegates from the Phillippines are begging to ‘end this climate madness’ at this weeks climate change summit in Warsaw. And yes many people will scoff at that last line and argue black and blue that the just because it was the craziest mega storm recorded on land doesn’t signal that its another example of the climate change effect, they’ll argue that powerful storms like Katrina and Typhoon Haiyan the norm, yes they’re totally normal… just like rapid melting glaciers, poisoned atmosphere and rapid species extinction.

We could go on bickering with each other on trivial things or we could get on the job of living lighter. I choose the latter. I choose to do what I can, which may not be perfect but it’s something. I’ve stopped buying endless non-life survival ‘stuff’ I’ve stopped sitting in city traffic for 2 hours a day, I’ve stopped relying on the supermarkets for most of my food. I’m trying to make a difference. Criticising one anther will not get us anywhere. Action will. Living by example will.

If thats clear, if any of this has made sense then I’m off. Off to buy an electric hot dog maker… or was that a cup cake maker?

What the chorizo can do for a thinkin’ mind

It was well over ten years that we had the most severe drought. Each winter I’d pray for rain, each winter it failed to come. The summers were harsh, the bush dried out and sure enough the devastating bush fires come and went taking both human lives and homes, to be lost forever. The public feeling seemed to be united. The general consensus was the drought, the worst in living memory, appeared to be directly linked to climate change. It felt like the people were aware of the impact their lives had and thus where keen to make change in order to make things right. Times got desperate. The cities water supply was at a never before seen low 13%. Gardens were parched from years of weak rainfall. The conversation often revolved around how hard things had become, how we could make changes to survive with this new outlook and future of living with drought. Then the drought broke.

The rain came and came. That first summer of rain wreaked havoc with farmer’s crops. The rain washed the dust from the city streets, as it washed the relevance of climate change from the face of the media. The topic too a back seat to more important issues like economic rationalism, bikie wars and the ever important reviews of popular reality television. The environment issue slipped down the ladder of public care.

It was during the drought that I started making changes in the way I lived. There came a time where I realised that in some way I was contributing to the environment’s problems. My consuming was exhausting nature. I wasnt sure exactly what I needed to do, I just knew it had to be something, because once I knew about the issues surrounding our way of living I couldn’t un-know that information. It was stuck with me.

What a journey its been.

There has been so many things for me to learn and discover. So many experiences and quite a few spectacular moments of failure. What I find most encouraging is that I’m still on that learning path. I’m still a student of change. Every now and then I’ll pick up some new skill, some new approach to living that reduces my reliance on the commercial food system that’s responsible for so much pollution, carbon emissions and unethical treatment of animals. You can’t deny these problems exist. You can pretend they don’t exist but they’ll still there, hidden behind clever marketing and shiny packaging. I often get told that I should stick to telling stories about hunting and building log cabins instead of complaining about our environment. That I should close my mouth about the unsightly impact our lives have on the natural world, that I should instead focus on the man stuff that’s slightly entertaining like fly fishing tales or talking about what gear I use. But I cannot be this person. Instead I write what is on my mind, even though it often lands me hot curry.

This week I made chorizo from the meat of the pig we were gifted. As I concentrated on the process I thought about how I would write about the experience. How it would be an interesting post to share with people. Look guys! I learnt a new skill, a new sausage recipe! Aren’t I clever! After all the mince had been squished through the hand crank sausage stuffer I took my bounty of chorizo out to hang with my two legs of jamon already hanging lifeless in the meat safe in the old brick shed. I hung the meat, closed the door to the hanging frame and starred for a few minutes at my curing meat. Home made jamon and chorizo. A little bit of pride snuck in, with a humph of self approval. It was at that moment I asked myself “Why do you do any of this?” “Why not just buy it?”

For so long now I’ve been embedded in a way of life that demands so much of the individuals input. Along the way I guess I seemed to have lost myself in the process of things. The seasonality of living. The summer grows the food for the winter, winter starts the whole cycle again. It was the freshly hung chorizo that reminded me of why I do what I do. That I’ve chosen a life of simplicity and self reliance because I want to remove myself from ‘the system’ the latter of which I’m convinced is eating away at everything good in this world. I chose the difficult path. A path where I try my best to cast less impact, but also a life where I have to accept that I will still have some impact. A life where I acknowledge that its not about having zero impact, more so it’s about a reduction of impact. Of wanting less. Of living with, and living with out. It’s give and take, take and give. As long as the cycle is a closed one, all should be fine.

My chorizo will feed us many a meal. Eventually I will dispense with this recipe, reinvent it and start all over again. I will sometimes get lost in the process, but I’ll never forget why I’m doing it. Thats the reason for everything.