Rohan Anderson's Blog, page 9

this is war

Most mornings I sneak a look at the patch. The chook house is within the fenced veg ‘compound’ so I figure I may as well check for veg progress. This winter has been particularly harsh. We’ve had all the hardships you can imagine, weather wise that is. But on top of that I’ve been at war with bush rats and possums. Back in May I planted a heap of winter veg, I know I should have planted some things earlier to give them a kick start but time just didn’t permit. I don’t think it would have made much difference anyway. It seems these beasts have a grudge with me. Maybe they’re the reincarnation of people I’ve pissed off in a previous life. What ever the case may be, they’ve decimated all of my peas, broccoli, mizuna, rocket, sorrel, onions and even a bunch of garlic. I’ve netted, set traps, baited you name it. But still they come.

 

 

I wouldn’t mind so much of it was just an ornamental garden, but this is our tucker. This is our supermarket. So in order to try and slow the feasting rats, I’ve installed stronger netting and different traps. Maybe it’s just a matter of me figuring out which is the most effective approach to move them away. Maybe this is just another challenge in life that will teach me another valuable lesson. I lay awake the other night contemplating. I realised I didn’t even now exactly who my enemy was. If it was possums then I’d only be able to trap and release them somewhere far away from the patch. If it was rats, I wondered how smart they must be to have alluded my efforts for so long. I was being beaten by tiny mammalian brains. I’m frustrated beyond belief. The pests and the long winter have really got to me. And when I’m stuck down a hole and there’s only one way to escape. That’s dig my way out. That or build a poly tunnel.

 

 

Last Spring my hunting buddy Jack built a poly tunnel and he constantly tells me of how phenomenally productive it is, even in the depths of winter. Could this be my answer to a more secure growing method? Just hearing about Jack’s supply of winter broccoli alone is enough to convince me it’s a worthy venture. So I’ve put pen to paper, I’m crunching numbers and taking measurements. I’m horrible at this stage of a project. So much so that Kate reminded me to add 50% onto my final projected cost to accommodate for the Rohan idiot tax. My estimates always seem to end up under done and I inevitably spend more money than I initially projected. I’m good at some things, business and money are not my strong suites.

 

 

It’s at this time of the year that I start writing my summer veg list, I decide what varieties I want to grow and how much. Over the years the list seems to have found some balance. I focus on growing lots of food that will get us through winter, and plenty of summer veg for us to enjoy over the peak period. I have to admit, as much as I love winter with its fire side evenings and wintery food, when it comes to veg growing, summer can’t be beat for variety and productivity. We eat much less meat over summer, a few trout, some eel and the odd bucket of yabby. When the variety of food is so diverse, why eat tones of meat when there’s delicious eggplant, zucchini, tomato to devour?

 

 

This summer though I reckon there maybe a slight exception on the meatless situation. I figure we might have a heap of porky treats to mix with the veg. Bacon and zucchini. Eggplant and chorizo. Pumpkin and Jamon. I love that I get so excited just thinking of the food we’ll be eating. Food that I raised from seed, nurtured and cooked. I’d love for everyone to experience this. Lives would change, priorities and perspectives would change. The beauty of it is that it’s available to all of us. It’s just a matter of planting the seed.

 

wild, free and reckless

Scout sat, perfectly still in contemplation. Looking east, facing the rising sun of morning. The early rays may have been warming her, maybe they where a talking to her. She seemed to be mesmerised. Through the kitchen window, I watched her for a few minutes. I’d not known her long, but it seemed out of place for her to be this contemplative, this still. Maybe she missed her mate. Maybe the morning for her to leave and continue on her wild adventure had finally come. She’d had her time with us, but that lure to rejoin her wild mate was far stronger than the offer of a good feed and a comfortable bed. The children had enjoyed having her around, Kate in particular had grown attached to her, sucked in by the cuteness of folded ears, wiry hair and a timid nature. I was a marginally less attached to Scout. It’s a pre-defence mechanism of mine. I’m over feeling hurt, so I find it best not to fall in love with something wild enough to leave me on a whim. Plus she shitted in the hall way a lot. That was enough to keep me falling for that old chestnut, the lost puppy phenomenon. By that afternoon Scout had made her dash. She never came for her meal, she never returned for her warm bed. Instead she heeded the call of the wild, returning once again to a life on the run. A life of never knowing where her next meal would come from, where she’d rest up the for the night. A life of hardship, but a life of adventure. I can see the allure. We all felt some emotion with her leaving, but we don’t possess the right to hold her as she came from nowhere, to which she returned, so we just have to suck it up and get on with life.

Henry and I drove the truck as far north as Shepparton, we had the job of picking up a few ‘free to a good home’ pigs. It was a long day on the highway, however it offered a perfect opportunity to listen to Waylon, Willie and the boys without the mumbles of displeasure from the passenger to my left (who is normally Kate). This road trip, it was just the boys, Henry and I. Being a dog, Henry didn’t seem to do much complaining about my choice of outlaw country music from the 1970′s. Instead of grumbling about the selection of music, he’d simply fill the cabin with his foul gaseous expungement every so often, sometimes when he gathered enough energy he’d pop his head up, presumably looking for any sign of rabbits, he’d then get bored, proceed to do something gross like lick his empty scrotum, eventually he’s groan with a full body stretch and reenter dog snooze town. He entertains me, keeps me company and fills the role of the perfect friend. A friend that loves the outdoors, to adventure, to hunt. A friend that never argues with me, instead offers unconditional love in return for meals and a warm place to sleep of a night. It’s a pretty fine deal.

We (as humans) have amazing relationships with our pets and our farm animals. We love our animals, be they, chooks, rabbits, goats, pigs etc. Generally speaking if we have animals around us we tend to love them. We love our animals so much that we buy them silly treats, like knitted jumpers and fake diamond studded collars, the latter of which Henry does not wear (only on weekends when he’s going out). Our animals have an effect on us, they generate emotions of love and tenderness. Our innate need to nurture activates and we start talking like idiots, “who’s a cuttie doggy woggy?” or “you love your daddy don’t you? Who loves their daddy?”. None of these of which I am guilty of.

Most people don’t get to meet their meat. I reckon thats a big factor in the general apathy towards giving a shit about how the animals are treated. When a person meets an animal, (unless they’re a cold hearted psychopath) said person seems to develop an attachment to that animal, even as hard arse as they try to be (me for instance, in regards to Scout). This happened with these pigs. There has been some discussion about keeping them, and thats ok, they’re beautiful animals. Friendly, snorty and funny. But their purpose is meat. It’s important that they have a good, comfortable life, and we care about this because we have contact with them. For most people the most contact with the animals they consume is the initial mastication of cooked meat. The animal is raised in a meat factory, pigs and chickens seem to be the worst culprits. Where we have the oppurtunity as consumers to meet our meat we tend to care a little more about how theyre raised. The conditions in which they reside, the freedoms they have to act like real animals and of course the ultimate killing process.

Now I’m not saying that I’m super awesome because I have contact with farm animals, and that I’m ethically better than someone living in a city. I’m just suggesting the idea of having more contact with the animals we eat would result in us being more picky with the meat we buy. I reckon we’d tend to choose meat from suppliers that care as much about the way the animals are rasied as we do. I’m thinking of some pig lovers here, The Farmers Larder, Bundarra Berkshires, Greenvale Pork and Tammi Jonas.

The pigs seem at ease in their new home. In just a few days they’ve turned up the soil with their snouts. They sleep in the shelter on a bed of dry straw, tucked away from the wind and rain of winter. We’ll feed them for a few weeks until the mobile butcher arrives to perform his age old craft. We’ll make Jamon, chorizo, salamanca, pancetta and bacon. The meat will feed two families for many months. These pigs have come from a diary farm where they were bought as piglets, as pets. They’ve lived their lives outdoors happily snorting around, digging and rolling in mud. They’ve lived like pigs, they’ve eaten like pigs are supposed to. Wouldn’t it be great if all the pork we ate had a life like theirs? If all the meat we ate had this live? Is it possible? In other countries it’s a reality. Here in Australia, we seem to have an entrenched ‘meat factory system’ that is locked into industry standards, not compassionate standards. Will we change? Thats up to us as consumers. I see the only way to make significant change is to support the people that do give a shit. Support the people that just get it. They seem to be all over the place. I met them in America, I’ve met many of them in Australia. You’ll have them operating near you. Make yourself known ethical farmers. Let us support you.

 

This post is dedicated to the wild, free and reckless spirit of all lost dogs across the world. In particular, Scout. My widdle smoooppy wooopy.

Choice

“Mum, the kids at school picked on me for my lunch again”

Kate’s eldest daughter is a smart kid. Probably smarter than most kids in her grade. She’s figured out what is real food and what is processed (fake food). It’s her upbringing you see. She has a mum that cares about what goes in her lunch box. So much so, every weekday morning Kate gets up earlier than everyone else, and while we slumber she and bakes something fresh for the four girls lunches. Lately she’s been baking this thing she calls a flapjack, a muesli slice. The kids keep asking her to make it, it’s a winner.

We’ve heard this story a few times now, how she gets picked on at school for her food. It’s frustrating. Frustrating because it’s our choices (as parents) that have made the contents of a school lunch box a talking point in the school yard. We’ve made the choice to live a particular way based on what we believe, and for that there will always be some sort of reaction from other people. Whether it’s in the school yard, the general store or from the online community. I guess thats why I try to communicate to people that how we live isn’t perfect. All we do is try to live a life that addresses some 2013 issues. I’ve had a good think about it and I wanted to pen it down, even just for my own clarification in a few simple lines.

 

1. We grow/raise/hunt/forage most of our food in the hope that we’re eating healthier tucker. In the hope that we’re eating food that hasn’t travelled miles to get to us, food that hasn’t come from overseas, food that hasn’t been treated with inorganic juices like pesticide, fertiliser etc. It’s food that’s not packaged, processed or ‘improved’.

 

2. We live in an old farm house because we like country living. We like the nature stuff. We like the beauty of a rural lifestyle, the peace and quiet.

 

There are consequences associated with these choices. Firstly the school lunch box criticism. Thats basically a metaphor for how many people, children and adults, look at our food choices. Recently when Kate mentioned we where cooking a wild shot goat for dinner, the very thought of it was poo pooed by another kinder mum. These moments happen with regularity when the subject of food and what we eat gets brought up in conversation, even just when a photo of a meal gets posted online there is often an interesting remark. Then there’s the flack we get for living in a house with a wood heater, or the one where someone complained about me driving a farm pick up, or Kate driving an old holden, or that our dog looks under fed. It’s all part and parcel of being out there, on some form of platform where people are free to have a go at you.

 

There are two options. To remove oneself from public view and disappear into obscurity. Or secondly, to persevere and continue to share the journey towards the simple life, and accepting a bit of flack along the way. Well I kinda believe in what I’m doing enough to persevere. I’ve never said I’m self sufficient, or sustainable. In fact I go to great lengths during my talks to make it clear that I’m none of these and I believe that no one can truly be 100% self sufficient and sustainability is a buzz word as useful as tits on a bull.

 

The reality is that for any of us that enjoy heating in winter, cooling in summer, a pillow upon to rest our heads, clothes to cover our naked bodies, a car of any type or even soap to wash our dirty hands, all of these things and pretty well much everything else we come into contact with thats man invented will have some impact on the world in some way shape or form. I guess the idea of my life choice is to minimise that impact where I see applicable. By taking care of my food I reckon takes a big chunk out of my impact. It’s not a perfect system, but surely it’s heading in the right direction to minimise impact?

 

I know that chopping fire wood using a petrol chainsaw, and loading it in the back of my farm pick up seems to counteract that effort I make with food. Is it a better alternative to my days sitting in traffic for an hour, surrounded by thousands of other cars all doing the same thing, to and from work each day? Is it better to burn wood, a renewable resource instead of the finite natural gas to heat the house? Are my reduced country miles better than city driving? I don’t have the answers for that. But I do know that it makes sense, living on a farm property, to drive a ute. If I lived in an apartment in a large city and I drove it to work in heavy traffic I guess that wouldn’t make sense. But I find  it useful to collect things for my garden, to pick up feed for my chooks, materials to build things. See, now I’m trying to justify my choices, when I should just do it, just continue doing what I do regardless of the poop that might get flung my direction. Sometimes we can lose faith in the choices we make. We can become weak in our resolve. But I say, fight on. Do what you believe in. Do whats applicable and ignore the naysayers.

 



 

It’s ok, I can handle it. It’s not really a bother. It’s not a bother because I believe in my life choices so much that outside opinions don’t count. But how does a nine year old deal with it? Kids can be cruel, and I feel defensive on the darling little girls behalf. Then again I figure she’s got to learn to fight her own battles. It’s not easy for her, and we (Kate and I) do feel responsible for the contents of her lunch box and the trouble they cause her. But hopefully when she’s older, it will drive her to do something amazing because she had to grow up a little harder, a lighter tougher with a hardy resolve. All we can do it hope for the best.

 

Putting aside phycological challenges I have to deal with a more pressing issue at hand. My choice to grow my own food has been challenging in a very real world manner of late. Pests have been eating my veg. Heaps of it. I thought I fenced the patch well protecting it against rabbits. But still my plants are being hammered. I can’t spot any rabbit poo, which makes me think it’s either a possum or rats. For now I’ve netted everything, hopefully the plants will recover and we’ll have food in spring.

 

Win Some Lose Some

Over the rolling green hills, through the ‘thick as a winter stew’ mist, past the freezing sheep, through the eucalyptus forest then down into town, it’s the routine of the morning school drop off. I have to admit I kinda love that morning drive. Every day there’s something new to look at, a fallen tree, some migrating flocks of ibis, a flooded creek… we have no television, I’ll take entertainment in what ever form I can get.

I also like to extend the sensory experiences/entertainment which has led me to an annoying habit of sliding my window down, even in horrid weather. I like to hear the outside, smell what I drive by and best of all feel the cool air on my cheeks, it’s fresh like a splash of cold water on the face at the start of a new day. Each morning we drive through a patch of bush, dry open woodland. Most mornings we’ll spot a black swamp wallaby and the eastern grey kangaroo, the latter usually being in large mobs of 10, 20 or more. Sad to some I’m sure, but I can’t help but think of a 12 hour roo tail stew each time I pass the mob. Always thinking of food. Aren’t men supposed to be thinking about sex all the time? Food, sex, they’re equally important aren’t they?

I live surrounded by natural processes, we all do, it’s just that when you rely on these process you tend to be a slightly more in tune with them, you tend to pay more attention to them as they’re often critical to a certain amount of your food production. Often I’ll notice the little things, like a sick chook, rabbit munched carrot tops or a growing number of green caterpillars on my kale. So I’m a little aware/obsessed with what natures getting up, you’d think it would have become mundane, or routine like the morning drive to school. But it’s far from the truth. When I drove back up the hill, deeper into the mist of home I couldn’t help but wonder how on earth does photosynthesis happen on days like this? How does anything grow when we have days and weeks of weather like this? Obviously nature has developed techniques to get around the crappy weather, and for that I am pretty darn grateful.

The winter crops make the most of whatever sunlight they get, in turn providing us with a selection of fresh greens for winter stews and casseroles. Each week, this time of year, I’ll make a large batch of breakfast beans, which consist of dried beans I grew in summer, mixed with what ever veg I have on hand, often garlic, onion, carrot or celery. Passata always goes in, and if I have some around, a good drop of red wine drops into the mix. Some chorizo or bacon is the only meat addition and for spice I’ll add heaps of cayenne pepper and pimenton picante. The freshness and veg element is what ever is in stock in the backyard patch, swiss chard, spinach, parsley or kale. The meal is hearty (and farty). It’s mostly full of ingredients we’re able to grow ourselves ticking the self reliant box. When I make a large batch it makes week day breakfasts a breeze. The freezing days and nights allow me to keep the beans in the pot on the hob, which I can simply reheat each morning. I’ll toast my sourdough while the beans warm up, the flavour developing as the weekdays pass. When it’s steaming hot, I’ll feast like a beast. It’s the best start to the day. It’s one of those ugly looking meals, like a slop served in prison. Put aside it’s poor aesthetics, and you’ll enjoy a tasty, enriching and nutritional feed. Years ago I would have scoffed at being offered such a meal, but now when I don’t eat it on a cold winters morning I feel slightly cheated. When the sunlight is absent, and the weather is frigid, people around here can get a bit depressed. Cabin fever sets in for winter. But for me, this time of year is a celebration of all the work I put in over the previous summer. I celebrate it on a plate, and in my tummy.

It’s also the time of year that I slice open the salt cured leg of pork I cured and hung the previous winter. It’s like using a film camera. You never know how it’s going to turn out. I still have yet to get a consistent result for a jamon, but I enjoy the learning process I’ve had over the years. Last year I dry cured two legs, I figured why not! We love to eat it, the whole family enjoys it, wrapped over hunted rabbit, slow roasted, in pasta, stews or just on it’s own. I think last year I left them in the salt bath a week too long, so they’re a bit salty in parts, but still very edible. I’ll be hanging the next few legs in a few weeks time, I think I’ll go back to my original dry cure rule of a day per kilo of meat sitting in the salt bath. That got the best result by far. The last few years of experiementation are over. When it aint broke don’t fix it.

 

The same can be said for age old technics of food storage. What did the old people used to do before food preservatives where invented? I’ve been on a mission to remove myself from the normal system of food acquisition, this means that I can no longer buy frozen or pre cooked meals. The alternative is to have some fresh food on hand, growing in the back yard. As great as the system souds it has it’s problems. Often I’ll have a lot of the same variety all ripen at the same time. It’s been this way for ever. So what better way to prepare for the future by looking at the past. I found a method for preserving/extending the shelf life of root veg by using plain sand as a preservative/storage bath. The idea is to keep the veg in suspended animation using sand, which doesn’t have all the nutrients and physical elements required for the plant to grow, but it has just enough to suspend the veg in a state of hibernation. Months ago I had both elements required for this process, sand and root veg. Thus ensued another of my ‘self sufficiency’ experiments. A large tub was filled with a heap of deliscious carrot, beetroot and turnip. All freshly plucked from the garden, hard and snap fresh, although I guess I’d be hard pressed to snap a beetroot. I then covered to veg with the orange sand and stored the tub in the shed (I think that was sometime in march or april). Now that we’ve moved house and I have no established crop of carrot in my newly created veg patch, so I figured it was time to check on the status of ‘root veg in sand experiemnt’. As my hands plunged with anticipation into the cold sand, I expected to find shrivelled carrots, mushy rotted beetroot, but no! Man was I impressed. Sure there where a few losses, but on the whole the carrots where firm and fresh, snap fresh yo. Unbelivable! With a bunch of carrots, Kate made a mega cake for one of the girls birthdays and the taste was just phenominal. I don’t eat sweet food much but I enjoyed this cake so much I went back for seconds. I was happy that the experiment worked, so too was Henry, who snuck in a nautghy lick of the icing sugar on the wall of the cake. What a sweet tooth! Not cool for his ‘tough’ hunting dog image. Maybe he likes Chai tea too.

We continue to embrace the ‘win some lose some’ approach to our food, with winning meals like pumpkin gnocchi and wild stinging nettle pesto foraged walnut pesto just after we’d lost so much veg eaten care of rabbit and co. We also get to enjoy the food we grew and harvested months ago, pairing it with what little green tucker that grows in these harsh winter conditions, thats more of a win win situation. How amazing to have found this way of living! I don’t want to sound like a turkey, like I think I know everything, but these last few years, this food journey of ‘self sufficiency’ or what ever you like to call it, it’s taught me so much. It’s opened my eyes, and my mind. I look at what is considered normal, and I’m concerned. What I’d been doing for years, which is relying on the supermarket system for my food is clearly unnatural and I’ll be brave enough to say, totally and utterly wrong and in no way good for us or our natural world. We are bedazzled with choice for food in the supermarket isles, choice for the same meal just slightly tweaked, sugar reduced, no fat, salt reduced, all unnecessary.

Whats on offer is highly processed food, pre-cooked food, chemically treated food, its convenient and it shoved in our face as the only option. But what I’ve learnt, albeit slowly over some years is that the answer lies in the past. The answer lies with cultures that have remained unchanged in regards to food acquisition for hundreds of years, and they’re doing just fine. I’ve learnt that the alternatives to the supermarket option are totally doable. I’ve learnt the value of a days work, of working to achieve something that will give direct benefit to your family. Planting veg gives me food that I once sat in an office to earn money to then buy food with. Now I just grow the food. Somehow I cut out most of that reliance on the supermarket. Now I realise that the supermarket can return to a general store, and we’d all still survive quiet dandy. The staples are all we rely on now. Someone else still makes our flour, salt, sugar, spices, dairy etc. The rest we seem to be in control of now. And by being constantly open to new/old ideas around food, like the root veg sand experiment, I reckon we’re doing ok. And it’s not like we never get to eat a burger, sushi or thai noodle soup. I’m not that hard ass to give up those joys. But for our everyday family eating, we’re outside the system now. No plans to return.

Saving Grace

The last few months have been hectic. The last two months I’ve been burning the candles at both ends. When I returned from America I came home to a house move to finalise and a few other personal problems to deal with. It’s been challenging to say the least, but we’ve come out on the other side. During the stressful times I kept reminding myself that things would get better. I said to myself, when I start making the sourdough loaves again, it would signal the return of normality. I’m making bread again.

 

Moving house is always a pain. In fact it be lying if I said I don’t hate the process. I loath it. This house move wasn’t a real choice for us. We’d just started to feel settled. The veg garden was at the height of productivity, we had fresh food coming left, right and centre. Moving house means moving the veg garden, well what ever I can dig up, transplant and save. Before I went OS I formed some gardens beds with the help of my hunting buddy Jack. I planted a bunch of veg, some direct seeds and some as established seedlings. The idea was to have some action in the garden by my return.

 

Winter has really set in here. We had snow the other day and most mornings we’ll either have a frost or our little hill is covered in thick mist. When the winds are here they seem to move in for days at a time. The freezing winds force their way through the trees and the old buildings, finding gaps and making eery whistling sounds, almost like there’s someone with you even when you’re alone. When the rain and wind decide to marry the conditions are unbearable. Working out here means rugging up in layers, heavy duty boots and even gloves. Travel down off the hills however and it’s a different story. The weather is totally different, it’s calmer and bearable. Even as harsh as the weather can be living on a hill, it has it’s rewards. We bask in a sense of isolation, of peace and comfort. Our style of comfort. At night our wood heater burns and warms our rooms and our hearts. Our kitchen is often filled with the aroma of onions sweating for a pumpkin soup, a hearty stew or a heavy pasta sauce. We eat hot meals from frozen veg we grew in summer. Corn fritters, pea soups, bean stews, pumpkin gnocchi and beetroot pasta. A loaf, hot out of the oven is a joy, an accomplishment of effort. Real butter melts on the test slice, giving me a big grin of both joy and pride. The coffee brews hot each morning on the stove, steams in a cup then heats my insides and wakes my slow mind. I love the winters here. My garden may be in a torpor but our lives are very much active.

 

The days are not with out their challenges. And setting up a new veg garden means that I’m put months behind schedule. Unfortunately I missed the boat with a few plantings but I’ll have to make up for the loss in some other form of food. And to make matters worse, the rabbit proof fence I hurriedly made before my overseas jaunt had one flaw. A small gap hidden in the corner of the fence, just enough for what appears to be a family of rabbits. A recent morning discovery of rabbit destruction was heart breaking. The thought of missing out on all the broccoli, onion, kale, spinach and peas was actually scary. Where would I get my spring veg from now? These last few years we can live like we do because I source almost all of our food, a huge reduction in regards to cash outlay. But now it looks like I’ll need to buy in some food from some local growers. We’ll survive, but it’s something that has settled in the back of my mind. It was my lack of care setting up the fence. It’s my fault the rabbits got in. Accepting that sucks. It’s the situation now, nothing I can do about it. I’ve replanted everything that was eaten, I’ve mended the fence OCD style and I’ll now pray that the veg can survive the harsh winter and the fence holds out those beastly bunnies. The challenges of committing to what you believe in. Of a self reliant lifestyle. We may have chosen the good life. We never said it was the easy life. But it is a good life.

 

There is one saving grace though. As I emptied a large container that I’d been using as a mini compost/worm farm I discovered a bunch of crisp potatoes that had been growing among the soil and rotting compost. A feed for the family indeed. In the paddocks the first bunches of stinging nettle have popped up where the farmers sheep camp under the larger trees. I think a few dinners of nettle pesto and potato gnocchi are in order, maybe even a warming nettle and spud soup.

 

I’ve been busy building a new home for our gang of chooks. I rebuilt the kids old cubby house and put up a fence, complete with a swinging rusty gate to house the girls within the already fenced veg garden. Hopefully the two fence system will keep the foxes away from killing the chooks but lets face it, anything is possible.

 

At least for now we’re getting fresh eggs again. And although the garden looks barren, it somehow feels complete now that chooks have returned. Their clucking kept me company as I replanted the seedlings that the rabbits ate. Life seems to be back to normal.

big cities and plenty of oysters

Theres a reason why I like living in the country side. It’s quiet and theres a bunch of natural stuff surrounding me. It makes me feel right. It’s where I feel most comfortable.

Big cities on the other hand, well they can frustrate me. Visiting the big boys in America was always going to put me out of my comfort zone. Thankfully I had a team of people who put their hands up and hosted me with genuine fervor. When I left Camp Wandewaga it was on. Down a busy interstate we speed in Fidel’s trusty Outback, passing chain restaurants called ‘Outback’ wondering where the actual outback was in America. That afternoon Max and I wandered through a farmers market somewhere in Chicago, talking with producers and shakers.

 

Later that afternoon I did my talk for folk at Longman and Eagle. But I did it with a twist, they’d organised a rabbit for me to gut and skin. The theory talk transformed into a practical demonstration. I love being given the opportunity to share skills, that are my everyday life, with people that may not normally have an avenue to be exposed to said skills. After the rabbit was cooked beautifully by the chef at Longman & Eagle, we headed downtown and feasted on more amazing tucker at Nellcote. Man I was eating so much good food I was gaining pounds by the day.

I dragged my now bulging bags to the subway, off to another airport, for another flight, New York City beckoned. My mate Matt Hranek had fishing plans for me along with a tour of his city. Not one tourist attraction was on the cards, it was more important for Matt to share his favourite places and me to be shown them. Places like McSorleys for a few ales, Russ and Daughters for a mega cured fish experience, a rad vintage shop for some new old boots, and an army surplus store in China town for a military duffle to fit all my new Americana in for the trip home. So a mega day right? Well it wasn’t over.

 

I then headed out to the Bedford Cheese shop to hang out with the cheese dream team. They were great hosts, providing a mega platter for this travelling cheese lover. In fact they gave me some mind blowing american salumi, re-highlighting that great food can come from within your own country, if not local, you just need to make the effort to explore. And lets face it, who doesn’t like to explore?

The following day was mega. Bryan, one of Matt’s fishing buddies picked me up and we headed to Jamaica Bay for Blue Fish and Stripers. With some emergency roadside coffee and breakfast in our bellies we bobbed our lures above the water, working either side of Bryan’s boat as 747′s approaching JFK screamed above us. What an experience. I was just taking it in, loving the contrasting worlds, the almost obscurity of fishing with Manhattan in the far distant view. Later in the morning we braved the swell and headed for ocean, and above us the gulls danced and dived, an indicator of small fish, that’s what the Blue fish feed on. We fished that water with some luck, bagging a few, enough for Matt to make his famed Blue Fish Fish Cakes. Not before we downed a few cold morning ales at the timeless Tamaqua pub in the storm ravaged bay in Brooklyn. Talk about jamming in as many experiences into 24 hours.

 

Matt runs things on New York time, which means no time to waste. After a quick taste of some horribly good NYC hot dogs we rushed over to Matt’s place where he whipped up some fish cakes in panko at his Brooklyn residence. Reluctantly I accepted that my time with Matt was almost at a close. It was a real pity we didn’t get to go country for a few days. I’ve been admiring Matt’s blog for some time now and meeting the bloke in person, like all the other of my favourite bloggers has been a real experience that I’ll forever cherish. Maybe next time we’ll head out of the city in the Landy and I’ll see Matts country world. On the busy road into the city I lamented we lived so far away, but I had to focus as I had an event booked at Best Made Co in Manhattan. I gave my talk to a keen bunch of people, then I showed them how to gut, skin and fillet sea bass. I could have walked out of that store with a bunch of useful stuff, axes, hatchets, enamel, tools it’s all useful stuff to me, so I was happy to be a part of their story for even just a short moment.

Another early morning saw me lugging my now MEGA bulging bags to Penn station for the Amtrak to Philly. It was to be a short stay, in fact I wasn’t even booked to stay overnight, it was a trip consisting of a handful of hours and a late night departure. The busy stop over started with a visit (and delicious cocktails) at Art in the Age in old Philly. Man I loved that snap. I loved to just be able to chat and sip sweet booze before meandring down the street to Fork restaurant where an amazing meal was in the works. It’s rare for me to eat out at places like this, it’s just no longer withing my lifestyle’s fiscal means. But I enjoyed the tucker and the way the Chef Eli had set the menu out based on my books structure. With a full stomach I was whisked away by the midnight rider, Joe Gannon (below).

Joe’s ‘shack’

We hammered down the highway with Waylon, Willie and the boys keeping us awake on the late evening haul. Now it’s true for anyone that’s met Joe, he’s a lovely bloke, and I reckon by now I can call him a mate, but there’s something you should know about him. He’s pure evil. Well not evil, more mad. Just like his partner in crime Mad Max Wastler (more on that later). The two blokes have a project called Made Right Here, and I really hope it gets off the ground. It’s all based around featuring people and business that make within America. Max and Joe love made in America for many varied reasons, pride, economy, local, tradition. I’d love to see a movement for that in Australia. Unfortunately for those that may not be aware, most of everything we consume here is made in Asia, mostly China and India. Would be great if we could get some industries back in country and reduce a bit of those miles stuff travels.

Anyway back to evil Joe … so he took me to an 11:30 Brewery tour at Dogfish Beer, which of course had free beer samples of delicious beer. After the tour, he took us to eat raw oysters and clams with more beer on the table. Then I was shipped off to the orginal Dogfish Beer joint to do a talk and you guessed it, drink. The day turned to night, and the night time had some sort of bar fiasco, one bottle of water and some much needed late night pizza. The morning was rough. And it was then I realised that being a band on tour would not be so rad. Was I now too old for this? Probably. But a fun experience none the less.

Delaware looked a lot like this …

and more of this …

The flight to Boston seemed pretty short. I’m pretty sure I dozed for most of it. When I arrived I was greeted by the familiar face of James Fox (10 Engines). One of the ‘hub’ bloggers in the states that’s lead me to so many great sites. We had many hours ahead of us heading north to to visit his Dad in Peru, VT.

Road trip poser.

 

I’ve always loved New England from afar, but now here I was in a place I could relate to. A beautiful climate, great natural resources and scenery to make Ansel Adams turn in his grave. Straight into a book shop for a talk then a drop off for a drink and to meet his rad Dad, the town doctor. We dined back at the beautiful family home of the Foxes, where I have to admit I was in seventh heaven. The place was just magnificent, and I’m very fortunate to have been invited there. A real family residence loaded with lifetimes of travel, exploring and experiences.

The Foxes. Father and son preparing yet more oysters.

You guessed it. More oysters.

 

I struggled to stay awake after a heavy dinner, wine, sherry and port. I slept like a log in the sweetest little upstairs room with my favourite type of old celling, a sloped one. I could have stayed there for a week just taking it all in, BBQ’ing oysters and corn. But there where people in Boston that wanted to speak to me, well more like me speak to them. On the drive down to the city we found an amazing/potentially scary dead animal shop. The guy makes dead things look good. I’m fascinated with taxidermy, just not the mindless killing to stuff things on walls but more so the preserving nature’s beauty. I hoped all the animals stuffed on the walls had been killed for food, but when I saw the sign on the wall I kinda figured what’s the point in asking. Seems like he’s a good shot. Better not bother him.

After a brief visit to Walden Pond to make a mini pilgrimage to David Henry Thoreau’s cabin site, we made a whistle stop tour of Boston hot spots. The best camping store I’ve ever been to called Hiltons Camp Store so big that they found a bunch of old stock locked away, brand new vintage. Well made gear, and I couldn’t go past a Woolrich jacket and some new boots for the girl. We dropped by the Barbor store as they’d been kind enough to sponsor my event (big thanks), and then a flash visit to Ball & Buck an all American mens store. Come on it’s America, I want to drink it all in. Later that evening I did a talk at a great co-operative design studio called Fringe. A big crowd came for the fundraiser put together by James and the friends of the Sommerville Library. The trip has been full of great events, this one added to the growing list of special moments for me. Only a few more flights to go and I’d be in the arms of my girls once more, but not without a stop off at LA for an event that turned out to be a real surprise.

Via the connection of one blogger to another (namely Joe Gannon) I was invited to talk at the Apolis Headquarters in downtown LA. Here in the middle of one of the largest concrete jungles sat a small shop built on the foundations of ethical ideas. We all wear clothes right? Most clothes are built in poorer countries with not a care for the people that make them especially in fiscal terms. But here at Apolis two brothers (Raan and Shea) changed that with the idea of advocacy through industry. Best to read about it on their site, but the idea is really what will drive future industry (hopefully). That night in LA was great. I stood in front of a huge crowd of people, the gallery so full people spilled onto the footpath. I talked with Chef Marcus Sameulsson and Elvis Mitchell, at Apolis, in Los Angeles! What a blast! How did this happen? No questions just roll with it Ro!

It was nice to finish the trip in LA on a high note. By the end of the whistle stop three week tour I was exhausted. My beard was out of control and I’d picked up some American hospitality kilos. It had reached that perfect time of a trip. Where you’ve had plenty of amazing experiences, created a bunch of memories but youre ready to return home to loved ones. It has been an amazing journey, one where I’ve met beautiful people, been welcomed with open arms and have now fallen a little more in love with the good old America. Where there is hope.

 

 

 

Wrangled by Wastler in Wisconsin at Wandawega

I don’t have many regrets in life, but not having a camera ready at Chicago airport to capture a memory is one of them. I guess I’ll just have to make do with the internal grey matter. Here I was struggling to carry my oversized bags, fighting through the hoard of passengers all vying for exit, eager to get here and there. It was getting to the part of the trip where the constant battle with other passengers was no longer entertaining. There standing in the distance, head above shoulders of the many, was this tall bloke, wearing a pure white stetson, its brim sitting perfectly horizontal upon his head. A warm smile and an open hand to shake hello greeted me. It was Max Wastler.

Like all my hosts for this trip, it was Max who’d organised this leg of the journey, and unbeknownst to me I was in for a special treat. We wasted no time at the airport and headed into Chicago proper to hitch a ride with a beer expert friend of Max’s called Michael, who at times reminded me of a hillbilly version of Fidel Castro.

We loaded up the wagon and headed to Wisconsin to eat cheese curds, cook Wisconsin steak and stay at the phenomenal Camp Wandawega. I was a tad drained by all the Kentucky fun, the travelling and the late nights talkin’ world savin’ stuff so I dozed off to the sounds of American hip hop. The beat of gritty hip hop, I’m sure was replaced by the dulcet tones of my dull roaring snore. I woke as we pulled into a grocery store/mega supermarket to stock up on wine, as Castro had loaded up the wagon with mostly beer, of which I don’t drink much of. We made one final stop to grab squeaky Wisconsin cheese curds and some of the largest steak I’ve ever seen. Pulling into Camp Wandawega was like entering a movie set. It was Americana perfectly preserved thanks to the passion of David and Tereasa. The place just oozed authenticity, mostly from Tereasa’s hard work foraging yard sales and thrift stores for peices of history that now fill the rooms of Wandawega.

I cooked a basic meal of mega sized steak (my first for a few years) covered in a red wine onion sauce, with a side of bacon wrapped asparagus. My cooking set off the smoke alarms and soon the local fire department and Sheriff arrived. What a gas.

We had fun and drank nice beer, cider, wine and whiskey well into the evening around a pit fire. One by one we headed to the beds of the camp for a heavy sleep. I ended up in a bunk bed, cosy and feeling like a kid again, Wandawega has a way of allowing you to be young again, and I applaud David and Tereasa for doing such a fine job. And of course, how could I forget to thank Mad Max Wastler for giving me a memory I’ll never forget.

 

 

Kenchucky

This trip has contained a lot of firsts for me. My first Portland (reluctant/curiosity driven) maple and bacon doughnut, my first serve of Tex-Mex and now I can say I’ve had someone greet me at the airport with a handwritten ‘ROHAN’ sign - another first for me. “Hi I’m Chuck” was my welcome to Kentucky. Wow, way to make a bloke feel welcome. No immediate events straight off the plane for this stopover, which was a beautiful thing. We had a few hours to fill which allowed me a quick visit to an old timer outfitter. I required an extra duffle to cater for all the stuff people where gifting me along the way, my hosts had been extremely generous. The outfitters was a real sneak peak in to genuine Kentucky, and I have to admit it was kinda mega rad. Boots, shirts, jeans, leather just like you’d imagine. I was a pig in poo. I did hold back and only bought the necessities. Two pair of Levi.

The Kentucky visit included a book talk, at a sweet little bookshop where I was able to reach out and chat personally with everyone. That was the best part of the trip, being able to connect with people not just by standing on a stage giving a talk but by meeting with them afterwards, hearing their stories and sharing ideas. There was this one bloke that had driven from Ohio to see me, and he was reasonably young, early twenties I guess, but what was impressive was the way he was thinking, he was thinking about things in a way that a much older person would. There was some young wisdom there, I wonder if it’s people like him that are the ones that make significant change in our future. t’s definitely not the norm, most people his age seem to be asleep. Most, not all.

I’ve seen a few of these younger folk coming along to the talks, and I reckon many of them can sense that something in this modern system isn’t quite right, and even if they haven’t yet figured a solution, they are at least thinking about it.  Those that I have met seem to be active, often changing elements in their daily lives along the lines of growing their own, supporting the community of growers, farmers and living local. In some cities it seems like it’s hip or a trend towards this lifestyle without actually living it, it’s more an external facade, but some people can see that it’s an inevitably, it’s the norm for the future. Some people are living it. I can respect that. I like the no bullshit.

We had dinner at rad venue called Harvest, where they take the local deal pretty seriously and they nail it perfectly. It’s often the restaurants that drive change in our food culture, and Harvest is doing just that. I particularly liked the map on the wall with pins in it showing where the farms are that supply the restaurant. It’s the future dudes. No doubt about it.

Chuck took good care of me on my short stay in Louisville, and unbeknownst to both of us we share a common love of wild birds. As soon as Chuck got wind of this fact, he took me out for some bird observing. Early on my departure day after our hearty breakfast we set off to a reserve to spot some of his favourite native birds. One of the best breakfasts on the trip so far…..thanks Lars xoxo. Nothing bets a home cooked feed.

 

Now let me explain that birds in Australia and America are totally different. For example, I’d never seen a Cardinal before, or a Yellow Winged Black Bird or even Canadian Geese, they just don’t exist in Australia. These may seem commonplace in some parts of America, but are totally new and exciting for an Aussie like me. Especially when I spotted a Cardinal. It’s a sweet bird, it holds a special place in my heart.

 

We walked the perimeter of the lake, spotting birds and squirrel alike. The path meandered through pretty forest, with the path sometimes engulfed by the dense green foliage of trees and then would open up with peaceful lake vistas, banked by fields of wild flowers. The bird observer in me took hold. I was in bird paradise. Yes I’m a bird nerd. I love nature, so sue me.

I guess there’s a reason why I live the life I do. The idea is that if I can grow a lot of my own food or take what nature provides then I’d have less less impact on the environment. Well it’s surely a reduction of impact anyway. And let me make it clear that I know I’m not perfect, everything we do has some impact, but I do what is possible. I love those fields of flowers, those healthy rivers – the gorgeous bird’s life. When I do walks like I did in Kentucky I’m refreshed.

 

I’m reminded of why I’ve made these choices in life when, over a meal recently the conversation hit a deadly topic, poisoned fish in a nearby river. You can catch them but no one eats them, the flesh has turned black, it’s no longer safe to eat. I’m sure I read about that in 1970′s National Geographic’s, but it’s now 2013. What do we need to drive more serious change? When the health of a river is get so bad that the fish are no longer safe to eat, shouldn’t that be time to make changes in our community? What will make us think about our impact on the natural world on a much larger scale? There is evidence of pollution from China that ends up in Oregon and even further east in Maine. Thats pretty bad right? Don’t you think that would be a catalyst for us to make change? I certainly do.

the southern home

I was greeted at Birmingham airport by Jordan, then quickly whisked away to an educational farm downtown where I was set to give a talk. Like a flash, one minute I was on a plane, wishing I had more time in Texas, the next thing I know I’m riding shotgun in Duq’s chevy pickup, the warm Alabama air filling the cabin of his truck. This trip has been pretty whirlwind, one day here, back on a plane, then off to the next place. I’m finding it all a bit of a blur really, but there are some moments that just stand out. They’ll be with me for all my remaining years. I’m forming new friendships, new connections and often taking away so much inspiration.

The educational farm in downtown Birmingham (Jones Valley Teaching Farm) was nothing less than inspirational, albeit on a small scale in comparison to the greater population, it’s still an important catalyst for changing the way we view food, its production, and how we consume it and cook with it. It’s a platform for education in a practical sense that I’ve been seeing all over the place, in America and back home. The people and the community behind it are driven by a passion to inspire positive change. I spoke but for a short few minutes to a class of school girls, I hope they got something out of it other than just my funny Aussie accent and answers on koala and kangaroo. I’m sure they did, well maybe talking about drunk koalas are more interesting. I did find of interest one question “do yo’all have jobs down there?” It’s obvious that some deep social economic problems exist all over America and the impact of the financial crisis is clear as a sunny Alabama day. What better way to survive during hard times than to participate with your community in learning to grow, to be self reliant, to work together? We have a choice here people. We can choose to bitch and moan or we can implement action.

Duquette and Morgan followed the trend of lovely hosts that I’ve experienced across the country. These guys are the people that answered the call when I asked on this blog, “who in America wants me to visit their state”. So thanks Jordan for getting me to Alabama. His mates ‘Duq’ and Morgan opened up their home to me, they organised everything, events, thrift store shopping and late night cocktails. I’m so glad that my trip has been a mix of staying with real people and some time in small motels. Not once have I stayed in one of those high rise chain motels, and I reckon my experience of America is the better for it. I’ve experienced an America like I never imagined. One where the people are as important as the history, culture and traditions. They’re real people, often facing the the same challenges we do. For example Duq, a talented musician is struggling to self finance his next album, and he’s relying on an online community to get him there. New technology to solve problems using the age-old support of being a true community. I can respect that. The idea of wanting to be independent in order to maintain your integrity, to stay true to what you believe in. Thats a hard call to make in this day and age.

I had my first American Q&A at bookshop called Church Street Books in Birmingham, which was recorded so maybe we can hear it at some stage, but listening to my recorded voice is like grating your ear off with a cheese grater. Horrible stuff. But a big old bunch of people arrived, listened, asked questions, and hung about for a good chat. I’ve really found such value in that process. To be able to meet people who either read my blog or have a copy of my book is somewhat surreal. To think that we live in this quaint little house in the country of Victoria, and for me to be transported to the other side of the world to met people that are in some ways part of my live, albeit my online life. It’s pretty special don’t you think?

We had a great dinner, in fact an amazing dinner cooked by the team at Urban Standard, comprising of one of the best game ragus I’ve ever tasted. Partridge and quail made the most of the sauce, the birds shot by Morgan’s dad. Amazing food. All the veggies came from the educational farm where earlier that day I’d talked to the bunch of school girls about being self sufficient and growing veg in the back yard. The dinner was a great example of what is possible with a little bit of community food connectivity and resourcefulness. Yes it was cooked by chefs in a commercial kitchen, but trust me, that means for nothing. And I’m not denigrating what good chefs like this do, I’m trying to say that this is possible for us at home. All it took was the chefs and event organises and urban farmers to come together to make it work. Thats something we can integrate into our lives. Meet with the people that raise your food at farmers’ markets, raise your own veg/small stock and share idea’s, culture, techniques and philosophy in regards to food. When you walk into the Piggly Wiggly you’re not doing any of that. Your simply greasing the machine.

I thank the team from Alabama. I thank you for getting me to somewhere I never imagined I’d visit in my life. Somewhere that I’ve now got a very soft spot in my heart for. I can relate to Birmingham.

Next stop. Louisville, Kentucky home of swanky horse racing and bourbon!

texas heart of gold

I drifted off to a restless slumber, it wasn’t until I heard the bump of screeching tyres at Phoenix that I woke, startled and groggy. Thankfully I didn’t need to hop off the plane, I just sat in that tight aircraft seat happy not to move. A 4am start will do that to you. As the 737 lifted again, I lamented the fact that I’d not been able to fish with a mate of mine there, but time and budget determined this trip, and I’d lucked out. I figured maybe next time I’d fish Arizona trout with Ben if time permitted. I drifted of to slumber-land once again, dreaming of fishing in clear water, lapping against my waders; the warm sun warming my back.

 

 

 

I never thought I’d get to Texas. I’ve always wanted to go, mostly because of my love for country music – real country music mind you! But I was here for another reason, simply to connect with people, that was the drive for the entire trip – simply to connect.

 

My first stop was San Antonio, greeted with a warm welcome by Mr Sam Newman, a texan gentleman, a mover and a shaker. It was my first taste of the south, I hoped my nerves weren’t too obvious, I did, after all, feel very much out of my comfort zone. Sam didn’t seem to mind, he’s one of those old school gentlemen, great to see they still remain. I was made to feel right at home with Sam and for that I was extremely thankful. From the airport pick up, we headed straight out to a talk at the sweetest library foundation, where I was blessed to meet some really fine folk. The community spirit was what touched me (metaphorically only) that and the fact that sitting next to this beautifully built house was a quaint log cabin in the garden. I have a soft spot for small cabins.

 

 

Later that day, in fact in that evening, I sat on a rooftop eating a stellar meal at the Hotel Havana, a meal of four courses all matched with a beer called Shiner. How chefs and booze pair up is always impressive. I gave my talk then finished the night in the company of some fine people, chatting the night away, sharing photos of our loved ones and talking politics, food woes and our love of dogs. But all good things must come to an end, and the evening was called stumps and I hit the hay exhausted, a running theme for this trip. In the morning we drove to Austin, which I imagined would be pretty, a drive between two cities is normally an adventure with rural landscape and pretty little towns.

 

My imagination was well off. The drive was non-stop mini malls and shopping strips with every imaginable bad thing about our western culture, chain takeaway food outlets, big brand outlets, fuel stops. It was relentless. As an American would say, it ‘LITERALLY’ did not end. I wondered as I sat with the window down, the hot Texan air in my beard, how did we get to this? Would I have any impact in an embedded culture such as this?

 

 

 

My cynical mind was relieved, in fact I was almost in tears when I visited a 5 acre property in down town Austin called Springdale farm, where a whole bunch of food grows to feed the people. Downtown? Can you imagine that! It’s urban farming, and I’m totally in love with the concept. It’s the answer I like to give people when they ask me “what can I do? I live in an apartment, I have no space to grow”.

 

I’d love to see more of this commercial urban farming exist in Australia, but in places like Melbourne the reality is that land is at a premium, and crown land is used for recreation not food production. Maybe some philanthropic organisation might start some urban growing project. I just need to find someone wealthy and enlightened, a hard ask I assume.

 

In Austin I wanted to see Dale Watson, one of my favourite Austin stars. But he played gigs on nights either side of my visit, and I had a talk to give and a pig to eat. I did that night’s talk at a place called Reclaimed Space, the home of some visionary guys who build small houses from reclaimed timber. Such great little living spaces. Dream eco-driven cabins, hello! They guys that hosted the event cooked an entire pig, raised by a farmer they knew, slow cooked over coals for almost an entire day. We fed on pork tacos and I told my story. I left tired but re-charged. I guess thats what’s been happening along the way. A busy schedule, meeting a lot of people, sleeping in other people’s beds, waking early, hanging at airports. But what I’m finding of great value is the connection I’m making with people. Even thought the strip of shops on the Texas interstate frustrated me, I’m so very much proud of the American people making change. They are true pioneers.