Rohan Anderson's Blog, page 8

Its high time you quit your low down ways

Imagine if you could fit everything you needed into a tiny house. A cabin even. These been plenty of times where I’ve stayed a few nights in some small place that seems to have everything I need in it. A friend’s holiday cabin in the bush, or at a tiny beach side shack. I find myself comfortably suggesting that I could live here, live with just what exists in that shack or cabin. When I return home from these beautiful places I look around at all my stuff and with the desire to reduce what I have I tend to have these clean outs that are verging on the extreme.
I’ve figured out that I can get by rather comfortably with a lot less stuff. I love all the things that serve a purpose. I love my kitchen tools that keep my kitchen in good stead day in day out. One beauty that I adore is an old cast iron fry pan that from memory my grandfather bought for my mum years ago. I can’t remember how I got my hands on it but its definitely not leaving my kitchen. All other fry pans have been dropped off to the pop shop, along with many a gifted kitchen electronic appliance and gadgetry.
Goose Egg and Smoked Garlic Shakshouka cooked in Pa’s old pot.

Lately I’ve been chipping away at my stuff. I used to have so much more. My home always felt like clutter was the interior design option I was hoping to achieve. Over the last few years I discarded and donated most of my stuff, and it felt very much like a weight was lifted from me. My aim is to continue to reduce what I carry around with me through this life. All facets of stuff must be reduced. I have a limited wardrobe, I have a reduced tool supply, a few fly rods, a few guns, camping gear, cooking gear and kitchen stuff. The latter I’m stoked to have reduced down to real practical basics.
The process can hurt. There are some things that have been pretty hard to part with. My recent decision to sell my canoe is one of those hard choices. As much as I love it, I just haven’t used it as much as I’d like to. It’s beautiful but that’s not a good enough reason to have stuff. By selling it I intend to build a poly tunnel (hot house) to successfully grow heat sensitive vegetables and become even more productive in the home grown veg department.
Good bye old girl….

Consumerism is a drug, and I’m a recovering addict. The temptation to buy this or that is sometimes so very strong. I’m not fully recovered, I’d like to think that into the future I’ll just be replacing things when they break, as apposed to getting things that I’ve been living quite happy with out up until now. I’m preparing for my future life in the small shack. Hopefully not too many years away.

Sydney calling

This coming weekend I’ll be dwarfed by Sydney sky scrappers, amazed by seeing so many people at once and warmed by a more northerly warm spring. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone and into the world of city living. I hope to meet up with a few people that I’ve been in contact with over the last few years online. I’d like to meet you’all in person.

I’ll be telling my story at two events. Its a long way to travel and I don’t get to Sydney very often, so if you’d like to hear me tell stories then this is your chance. If you can’t make it, please pass this info onto someone that you think might. Your help spreading the word online is greatly appreciated.

SYDNEY

OCTOBER 19th



FOOD AND WORDS – The Mint



If you live on a diet of cookbooks, devour food magazines, feed your mind with stories about food and the people who produce it, and think food writers and cookbook authors are the true rock(cake) stars, then this unique one-day program is for you.

Curated by food writer Barbara Sweeney, the event stars more than 10 food writers, who will present talks covering an alphabet soup of food-related topics.

Chefs Martin Boetz (Cooks Co-op) and Alex Herbert (Bird Cow Fish) will prepare a picnic lunch to be enjoyed on the grass. Delicious morning and afternoon teas are included.

Book tickets here – $185 Full day pass

 

OCTOBER 20th



CONSERVATORIUM ESPRESS BAR



Come to Conservatorium Espresso Bar to hear Rohan Anderson share his thoughts on sustainable food and how to grow, gather, hunt, cook. This is your opportunity to hear Rohan share his story, grab a copy of his book and enjoy a coffee with him before he heads back to Victoria.

Book tickets here – $25

Image credit Caleb Chancey

Just do it

Theres something to be said about being prepared. Dressed in a my smart looking cub scout uniform I remember reciting the scout motto ‘be prepared’ at club meetings and camps. To be prepared both mentally and physically for any course of action was the idea. I guess in my later years I’ve taken to the motto more so than when I was a young’n.
When late winter slides into early spring, I too slide into action. There is much to do. There are seedlings to be planted, garden beds to turn and weed. Manure to be raked, shovelled and spread onto beds to add to the growing potential of future food. Pipes to be repaired and checked for the irrigation system. Even though the winter garden has been somewhat productive with lush chard, spinach and kale, its the incoming warm season that’s knocking at the door, demanding to be noticed.
From these garden ingredients…

And some of these…

I make a winter regular. Frittata of chard, cheese and chorizo.

I potter around the garden, often in conversation with myself, discussing where and what will be planted. I’ll remind myself what I planted too much of last year, equally lamenting what I planted too little of.

There are decisions to be made. Never will I get it right, but I do take care and give the oncoming season plenty of thought. It’s funny you know, to have to forward plan your food months in advance. To plan what you want to eat, what we as a family enjoy to eat and to figure the right quantities allowing for failing crops or pest attack. It’s intimidating, the thought of it all falling over and having nothing. I guess thats why over the years I’ve come to realise that extra effort is imperative to improve the chance of success.
I love that it all comes from seeds. Everything. All that future food in my patch, all comes from seeds. I reminded myself of that very fact watching a little video shot at one of my talks in America earlier in the year. To simply start by planting a seed and seeing what happens. It’s so direct, so clear, so very simple.

Design Talk #5: Rohan Anderson of Whole Larder Love from Rough Water Films on Vimeo.

Adhereing to the motto of be prepared, I’ve begun planted my seeds for the oncoming summer season. I’ve even fitted out the new larder with shelves made from discarded timber. My jars may be empty and idle now, but by autumn they’ll be full. I’ll have jars of sweet peaches, crisp apples and pears, juicy plums, relishes, jams, chutneys, passata, cordials and as much chilli salsa picante as I can humanly make.

I love living this life. I wish you all could live it with me. I love sharing it. I love hearing what you’ve been living. I love being recharged by the family of doers. That’s us, as brothers and sisters doing good.
I love talking with people, meeting those of you living it. And next week I take my story to Sydney for two events. If you’d like to come and hear me talk, see here for details. Please pass this onto anyone you think maybe interested. And go out an plant that seed.

Water cress. Seed planted one week ago.

Thanks Rough Water Films and James Fox of 10 Engines and The Friends of the Sommervillie Public Library for the making of this clip.

The veg must come back.

Remember the first time you opened the lid of the veg box? All that fresh food picked the day before. So fresh there was still a layer of that rich volcanic soil on it!

When you cooked with it you could taste each unique flavour, finding out that simply roasting these gems was one of the best ways to enhance those beautiful flavours. You may have even pulled out some veg that you’d never cooked with before. The Daikon was a surprise for me! Something that I’d never cooked with let alone eaten, but I did enjoy exploring new flavours. I can’t deny that simply enjoying the classic veg was the true joy of those boxes. Corn so fresh I’d simply peel and eat! Carrots that when roasted where sweet and full of flavour. Those sweet little apples, cold out of the fridge on a hot day, oh my! The plentiful beetroots made delicious poached for a salad with goats cheese, mint and walnuts, or roasted and blended for a soup.

I think anyone that got a veg box, would agree the value for fresh certified organic is phenomenal. When that lid is removed and you pull each item out one after another, after another, you realise how much great food will be made from these humble ingredients. That very same produce is growing in the soil right as you read this.

The broccoli has sprouted, the pumpkins have germinated and the potatoes are buried in the soil trying desperately to pop up and greet the sunshine. Spring is finally here, soon summer will come and our veg boxes will follow suite.

We plan to deliver the first of our weekly drops offs to the city Saturday 4th January. The same system applies as last your, where you book and pay via the website and meet us at the designated drop off points. The only change is that we’ve teamed up with a selection of cafes and restaurants for our drop of points. We figured you might like a coffee after picking up your tucker! We’ve also added a new suburb to the list, Abbotsford, for all our eastside buddies.

So place your order, lock it in. Tell your friends. Buy food that’s grown just outside of Melbourne. Organic, chemical free goodness. Reduced carbon footprint and good eating grub! Win Win!

SOUTHSIDE



EASTSIDE



NORTHSIDE

WESTSIDE

Terms & Conditions.

The first month of spring, gone. Years seem to be passing faster. Seasons end, seasons begin, seasons end again. My face has aged with the acid winds of time, my muscles no longer what they used to be. I often ache after labour, though I rest well. I’m slower than my early years, although my mind is still fairly sound, motivation still intact. My resolve stands firm.

Each year the cycle begins, it flourishes then depletes. Springtime is the beginning of each year for me. The garden becomes increasingly productive, generous and undeniably beautiful. As the season progresses our food becomes more dynamic, increasing options and offering new ingredients. The sun burns down making everything bright and cheery, including our spirits. The food becomes so plentiful we store and protect it for later use, the lean times are not too far away.

Like everything living, eventually the slow down to the end begins as autumn approaches. We measure our effort in jars of preserved fruit, jams, pickles, preserves, pumpkins and beans.

It doesn’t come for nothing. You have to work hard at times. Hands become worn and craggy. Backs ache and morning sighs and stretches become more pronounced. Whatever pain may present itself, its counter balanced by the reward of the food. It’s simplicity cannot be masked or shamed, instead its celebrated for it’s richness. The winter approaches, we sit tight as nature slides into a total halt.

We warm ourselves with the timber we chopped the previous spring. We tend to winter chores and bless the effort we put in over the warm season. This way of living means you have to work with the seasons. It’s in the fine print.

This is my life. I’m writing it all down. I plan to share it in a book. My second book. ‘Spring to Winter – A year of Practiculture’.

In the hope that other people may embrace a year of practiculture and see what I see. Taste what I taste. Live what I live.

 

 

 

talkin’ PRACTICULTURE

Like a pastor on sundays, I get the feeling that I’m preaching to the converted. The same ‘enlightened’ people come into my world, they appear to be thinking parallel thoughts concerning their place on this earth, what impact they have, and how their choices impact on other entities. Many occasions will see me meet someone advanced, advanced in their actions, their achievements, their thoughts, and for this I am rather grateful. It’s reinvigorating, like a dip in a cool creek on a hot day.

Many moons ago I was asked to travel to Bega to present my talk to a crowd of folk at an annual event called the South Coast Field Days. The field days sounded like a great place for me to present, and I’ll always say yes to a bit of paid travel. The girls helped me pack up the truck, hurriedly mind you as I’d spent the morning helping to butcher the pig and I was running behind schedule. But I could now embark on a journey knowing our years worth of pork was well and truly sorted out. The drive took us a few days along the south east coast eventually ending up in New South Wales, finally reaching the pretty town of Bega.

 

I like talking at events, I like meeting people that give a shit. Often the folk I meet are looking for answers, exploring ideas or just stumbling across a better way to live. Words like, self sufficiency and sustainability get tumbled around, but really my talk covers my journey from office to my current way of living deeply embedded in ‘practiculture’. Practiculture is as it sounds, practical living with a reduced impact on environment while enjoying doing, instead of merely consuming. A life of licking plates of rich gravy, gnawing flesh from roasted beastie legs, slurping heart warming soups and moments of pure joy at the end of a rod, in front of a fire and under a woollen blanket. This is my life. This is what I talk about. The reasons why I changed from a desk jockey back to my days of a wild country youth. I talk of the benefits for me, my family and our natural world. It’s rewarding to converse with the audience after my talk, to hear their story to share ideas. Being a man living on a limited budget I often end up staying at the home of a generous host.

Green with envy is the best way to describe my feeling as I pulled in the drive. The sweet staw-bale cottage surrounded by practiculture had me lured in with the smell of waddling ducks, and the smoke from the camp fire. My hosts Genevieve and Annie, and their kids Oscar and Olive welcomed us to their home, they fed us and housed us. We spent nights around the campfire talking’ practiculture with with their geologist turned wild man, Brett. I love those moments meeting complete strangers that have so much in common. It’s almost like we’re old friends. And I guess now we are friends. We are after all, brothers and sisters.

 

 

This little home of Gen and Annie, was a benchmark for  practiculture living. They made the house with their hands from humble materials, they dug the soil and planted an array of fresh food feed their family, they made a safe housing for ducks and chooks, composting toilet and a playstation for the children to explore and imagine.

As much as I would have liked to move into the loft of the cottage I could no longer avoid the inevitable. The road called to us. Now it was a matter of exploring places I’d longed to see once again. Snow covered mountain ranges, crisp cool creeks, trout filled waters and new places to roll out the tent and sleep on the ground as nature intended.

For those folk that missed me in Bega but might be in Sydney weekend of the 19th October come and see me talk at Food and Words at the Mint. Details here. 

 

 

Porkies

I reluctantly kissed the gentle lips of the lady, into the car she slipped and drove off. Down our quiet road, off to the never never. It would be a spell before I’d set eyes on her again, and that was just what was planned, not accounting for what might go wrong. The outback has a way of testing us, especially testing for the cars that carry us. I on the other hand wouldn’t leave for my adventure for a few days yet and I had some chores that needed doing. One large sow hanging in quarters in the cool room weighed heavy on my mind, as it did on the butchers hooks that held the heavy weight of a skinned carcass. Quite a job lay ahead, a job I was new to, but rather eager to embrace. Breaking down a fully grown pig has been on the list of skills I’d like to learn for a while and as the opportunity had presented itself I grabbed it with the swiftness of Mr Miyaki’s chopsticks.

My master for the morning was the quintessential Aussie butcher, Don. Short in stature, sure, but he made up for it in honestly and ability. As I opened up heavy timber doors to the workshop kitchen, he carried in load after load of mobile butchering equipment. Simple gear that he’d modified and improved to make mobile butchering possible and efficient. I couldn’t help but praise him on his inventiveness for connecting a large hand cranking meat mincer to a small electric motor to make mincing kilo’s of meat a breeze.

We broke down the beast, with each cut Don would explain what I should do with it. I watched in awe. I helped handle a few of the large quarters as they went through the heavy duty saw. I bagged and tagged and no doubt asked many annoying questions, trying to drain a life time of experience from the man in a just few hours of assisting him break down the pig.

Unfortunately  I hadn’t been clear enough in wanting the offal, the head, the trotters, the skin so I ended up with a bit more of an Aussie butcher version of a pig, but nonetheless I have a freezer full of meat, and a handful of chorizo recipes to try. I have loin for making bacon, legs for Jamon, belly for pancetta, cuts for roasting and a supply of mince for experimenting with sausage recipes.

The only reason I have this pork is because a lovely lady called Prue offered me two pigs free to a good home. I’ve never met her, I’ve just spoke to her on the telephone, a few texts and thats it. From what I gather she’s pretty happy that the pigs ended up used well. They will feed us for well over a year, so I thank you Prue. For taking me down a path I’ve been putting off for so long. A path that I’ll now travel each year. A pig will be an annual tradition, all the way from piglets to bacon. Having the experience like this seems to allow me to better understand what is involved with pork production, the conditions in which they live, the personalities they possess and the cost of feeding and processing them. All elements of pork production that I guess we don’t see when we grab that shrink wrap of bacon at the supermarket. I’m feeling fortunate to have seen the process.

 

boulder country

I fired up the truck, my chores were done for the day and I wasn’t about to waste the daylight. Sensing my anticipation, Henry jumped up to his spot on the bench seat, sitting upright ready to spot any rabbits we’d pass. The spring day couldn’t have been more text book, it was mild, more sun than we’ve seen these past few months, it was weather suited for a drive to the mountain in search of morels. I’ve not had any luck with the morels so far this season, but at least I’m more connected with the season’s happenings, all thanks to my morel soothsayer. He had a dream, and headed up the mountain and sure enough he found a bunch. With his swift message I followed a few days later, but not having much luck I began to doubt his forecasting abilities. But perseverance is strong, especially when it comes to the once a year feed of morels.

The sun was still high by the time I arrived. The truck motor purred up the dirt road, south of the mountain, not my normal route but I felt like a change. Finally pulling up to the spot, I hauled my gear, a basket, a camera and canteen. Who know how long I’d be walking, it’s thirsty business, best to be prepared.

I followed where the natural formed drainage lines kept the green pick lush, I figured the mushrooms would like a mixture of moisture and warm spring sunlight. Walking with the earth’s rolling form, I picked up every bit of natural beauty along the trail.

The spring weather has been right on queue. With it followed the flowering of the carnivorous sundew, the bulbine lily and a blanketing layer of sour sop. Such beauty, all on the low down, there for us to admire. But I was here to search for food.

Half an hour passed before I stumbled upon these dark delights. Sitting in the clover, just the tips peaking up, a handful of morels unknowingly giving away their location to a hungry picker. They’ll often grow in groups, 2, 3, 4 to five. I’ve not seen more than a bunch of five, not to say it doesn’t happen.

Gently slicing the fungal beauties and laying them on the floor of my manly basket happened again, and again. It’s nothing like picking the autumnal glut of pine or field mushrooms, no, this type of mushroom is a challenge. It’s elusive, it likes to keep to itself, to remain lost in the grass and leaf littler. For the hunter its a matter of training ones eye to investigate anything that hints of morel. My afternoon wondered away with time, through the granite boulders I traversed, admiring their form, shadows and potential as shelters. I wondered who walked these steps before me, who used the resources for tucker before me. The wildlife was spectacular, currawongs, gallahs, cockatoos, all the regulars flapped from one eucalyptus to another busying themselves with their avian chores. Honey eaters and spine-bill darted from branch to branch, dancing at times, almost showing off. Bull ant mounts where a hive of activity, their complex community structure at play, all working for the good of the many, an admirable approach. Suddenly I felt alone, on a mountain looking at bull ant, contemplating their unique social structure that I wasn’t a part of. Distracting me was the sound of thunder, what sounded like thunder. I looked up at the clouds, to the west dark clouds had gathered, I’d been too busy looking for morels that I’d failed to pay attention to the sky. I’d also been distracted a hungry echidna on an ant feeding frenzy,  then once again I heard the thumping thunderous sound, it grew intense like it was coming towards me. I turned to look up the slope and between the boulders came hurdling towards me a full grown kangaroo with Henry close on it’s heels. With a quick command he dropped to the ground and the roo was off into the distance, away from being played with by an over excited dog. With a panting dog heeling along side I headed back for the truck.

As the sky grew dark the showers began. Nothing uncomfortable, in fact I welcome a walk in the rain. There’s something wonderful about being out in the elements, allowing yourself to be in discomfort, to be washed clean by nature. We spent so much of our lives working against being in any sort of discomfort, the more I thought about our modern lives the more I realised our distain for discomfort is what drives us. Food, clothes, houses, cars. They all make us comfortable. To be out on the mountain at the time was to separate myself from comfort, even for a short while. The flies had found me, the rain had found me and I was regretting carrying that canteen full to the brim, it was getting tiresome to carry. Discomfort. Was I was being weak? I meandered passed a patch of large primitive aloe plants, over the small gullies finally retuning to the truck.

I’d not filled my basket, not even close. But I did have an early taste for springs finest wild food. Its one of very few wild foods that I’m prepared to use more energy in acquiring than I get in return. For these mushrooms it’s about that once a year taste. I hope I’ll get this treat fo many years to come, I hope to get my messages from the soothsayer for decades to come.

By the time I returned to the old farmhouse it was dark, and waiting for me at the table was a bowl of hot nettle and potato soup that my darling made. I put cooking the morels on hold until the following day. After lighting a fire, I dug under the woollen Pendleton and spent the evening lost with a Louis L’Amour classic. In the morning I cooked the gems with sage, butter and olive juice. A crack of our island pepper berries and the job was done. Nothing fancy needed for something so gorgeous simply as they come.

every fool has a rainbow

It’s easy enough to get caught up in things. Life gets busy, all that running on the tread mill, getting no where eventually running out of puff. Thats where I am at the moment. Out of puff.

The last few years have been hectic, which is to be expected. Some how I managed to write a book, tour to promote the book, run workshops, sell organic veg, visit the USA, get divorced, fall in love and become a step father to two more children. Never a dull moment.

Somewhere along the way I lost little bits of me.

I’ve had a dream for a long time. To live in a simple shack, living with little, enjoying the bush. When I was a teenager, I asked my parents if my brother and I could ‘do up’ an old feed shed out in the paddocks to make a little home. It had three strong walls and a sturdy roof. The frame was set in concrete and the walls where clad with iron. All it needed was a veranda and a front wall. We got as far as making a veranda, and ran out of resources and drive. The shed remained a shed for the stock to camp in on cold nights, and hay to be stored for winter feed. Like the shed, my dream remains. But it is just that. A dream.

Since I decided to live simply, I’ve left a steady source of income. It took me a many years to get the courage to leave my job, but finally late last year I decided that earning money was not part of what I wanted to be. Here in lies the problem. The irony is that with out a steady income I cannot afford to purchase the land to build my cabin and lifestyle. The irony is that I need money to live with nothing or very little.

I’ve never been good with money, and I guess that’s a reason why I don’t want any money. I mean, I don’t want to be rich. All I dream for is land hidden away, to grow my food, to raise a few beasts and to build my cabin. Last weekend I spoke with a lovely person that attended one of my workshops, and we talked about this very topic. She reminded me not to give up. I’m not one for giving up. But I cannot see a way for me to get land without going back to what I’m fighting so hard against.

I planted 9 fruit trees over the last few weeks. I planted them in large wooden crates. I planted them this way because eventually I’ll have to move from this rental property and I want to keep the effort I put into planting and nurturing them. The last lot of fruit trees I planted around 5 years ago are back at my old home that I handed over to my ex-wife and kids after our separation. Which I think is a good thing. The idea was to give my family the security I’d worked so hard to provide them. It just means that now at 37, I’ve got not much more than a few guns, rods, clothes and furniture to my name. Thats a good thing though, as I don’t want anything to clog up my simple life. Other than land. Land that I can grow old with. Land that I can plant fruit trees and know that they will provide me for decades to come.

My rainbow is bright. But there is no pot of gold at the end, no philanthropic saviour eager to hand over money to make dreams happen. There is just me with an impractical dream that has stuck with me since childhood. I guess for now, until I figure something out, I’m just going to focus on simplifying even more. To rid myself of unnecessary things in life. Focus on practical, useful and nourishing.

whole larder love workshops 2014

I never figured I’d be a teacher of any kind, but life has a funny way of leading you down unusual paths. My first workshop series ever is almost coming to a close, it’s now a time for reflection, learning, planning for next year and possibly a short rest.

I’ve learnt a great deal from teaching people the basic skills that are very much a part of my daily life. In the beginning I struggled to fathom that folk even wanted to learn some of these skills, but each time a workshop came around, people arrived with open minds and hearts of gold.

How I’ve been humbled by the many and varied stories, backgrounds and ideas from the people who have attended. People that now have some new skills under their belt, but they’ve left something with me, often driving me to be a better teacher. Well in reality I’m simply a facilitator of ideas. I do pass on skills, but often it’s at the end of the workshop, around the old shearers table, where I hear how the workshop has changed the way people think about certain things, how its quite possibly the catalyst for some new change in their lives. That’s worth a great deal to me.

I go to great lengths to explain that what I do is not the only way but it is the way that works for me, and if you embrace that particular technique and incorporate it into your world then so be it. My role is to share what I’ve learnt. It’s up to you what you do with that information.

I have to extend a very warm thank you to everyone who participated this year. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you all, sharing experiences and making memories. There’s been some really touching moments, some hilarious gags and ripper tucker. And even though I’m the one out the front teaching, its often me that’s the one learning something from you all.

Next year’s workshops have a whole bunch of new things that I’ll cover and a few that my partner Kate will teach too. There’s lots to share, I hope you come along and secure a place and be a part of our family for a weekend, especially the mega passata day!

2014 WORKSHOPS DETAILS FOR BOOKING HERE.