I've had two different experiences working with cob, after having read about it over several years. I enjoyed Ianto Evan's book “The Handsculpted House”, especially his challenge to visitors to estimate the square footage of his and Linda's home. I was also intrigued by the method Linda used to determine the size of her kitchen space – stand in one spot and swing her arms around slowly. Talk about everything being within reach! Ianto also introduced a term I have found very useful – desking. Primarily used as a verb, desking is quite simply those tasks generally done at a desk – writing, paying bills, reading (mail, magazines, whatever), and so on. Many people will use their eating table (usually, but not always between meals!) for these activities, but it is an activity to take into consideration when designing your home. Personally, being the information collector that I am, a desk space is one of my top priorities. In fact, the desire for a larger desk (and more shelves!) was one of the motivators for building a larger cabin. Plus I miss having a comfy chair to curl up in with a good book, something I could not manage in the 8x12 since I had no loft to stash my bed in.
But the primary impact of this book was kindling my interest in cob construction. So when I heard of a volunteer-based cob house being built a little over an hour's drive from where I lived at the time, I leaped at the opportunity to experience hands-on training.
There was a small river near the building site where the clay was mined. The property had a well and electric. In discussion, I learned the hardest part was sourcing the straw, which is not to be confused with hay.
Straw and hay are two very different things. Straw is the stalks of plants from which the seedheads have been removed. It might be wheat, rice, rye, or another grain. Hay, on the other hand, is usually grasses, ideally with the flowers or seedheads still intact. Straw had little to no nutritional value, whereas hay is specifically harvested for its nutritional value. It is straw that can be a valuable building component (it is also used for animal bedding and roof thatching). Although really anything long and fibrous could probably be used to bind cob, you really don't want animals nibbling at your walls!
I never had clarified what their trouble with straw was – local farms not producing it, the cost of the straw itself, or possibly the logistics of transporting a large quantity of the bulky bales. Availability, cost, transportation – important considerations in any project!
The basics of cob construction are incredibly simple. Make a slurry of clay and water (depending on your clay, some sand to temper it may be needed), add a binding agent, usually straw, and mix well. Mash lumps of this mixture into a wall, let dry. Repeat. Cover with a roof with adequate overhangs to prevent direct rain contact with the walls.
Many people think cob can only work in dry areas, similar to adobe, but it has been widely used in the moist environments of the UK and Pacific Northwest of the US. Cob seems to shrug off humidity, but does last longer with protection from direct rain.
My first experience cobbing was a group of largely college students in shorts and t-shirts, stomping barefooted in the mud, arguably the best way of getting an even consistent mixture. It was then scooped into buckets and hauled to the building in progress. I was astonished and dismayed at the amount of water the endeavor required! It seemed an impossible task without a well.
My second experience with cob was on a much smaller scale, where I helped a friend build a cobwood shed.
Cobwood is a variation of cordwood masonry. Both methods use firewood type logs, whole or split, cut to a standard length. Cordwood masonry uses concrete between the wood pieces, whereas cobwood simply uses cob.
On this project, the owner had cut the wood from standing dead and down trees on the property, dug the sand near the mixing site, but brought in clay from a construction excavation site a reasonable driving distance away. He also had to haul in the straw, and according to his research rye straw would be best, a little more challenging to source. Being only a two-person crew, we mixed much smaller batches, and accordingly used less water. I began to see how the size (and speed) of the project affects, and is affected by, the availability of resources. The water for this project was simply rainwater collected in 50 gallon barrels, the rain being sufficient to keep up with the smaller and slower pace.
Each of these experiences left me with some interesting insights, some not even my own! The fellow in charge of the house project laughed about forgetting they could use garbage materials in the middle of the cob walls. I gathered crushed aluminum beverage cans were common fillers! He ruefully noted that this house probably had the purest cob walls of any. Had they thought to use filler, be it cans of river stones, that would have been that much less mixing needed.
On the shed project, the owner concluded nearly the opposite – the firewood displaced much of the cob needed for the structure, but unless you already have a surplus of cut logs, it would have been just as easy to make a pure cob structure. The additional labor of felling, limbing, and cutting the trees didn't strike him as a beneficial trade-off.
I really enjoyed my cob building experiences, and for quite some time had expected that when I found my place, I would also build with cob. Alas, my place turned out to be in an area of sand and glacial till, and what little clay is available is of very poor quality. It's a good thing there are many different ways to build a home!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
How I Write
It occurred to me that people might be interested in learning how I write.
I started out with (and still use) a list of topics that I basically brainstormed in a single session. Topics that emphasized the 'why' as much as the 'how', including things that I, and therefore probably others, have struggled with. From the outset, I wanted this book to be as much about the trial and errors as the successes, to be stories that people could relate to rather than be awed by.
A few weeks into the project I sorted the list into something resembling a table of contents (TOC), to help ensure I covered topics I may have missed in that original brainstorm session. As additional topic ideas occur to me, I add them to the list and try to figure out where they might fit into the TOC.
I look at both of these fairly often and see what jumps out at me, what triggers ideas or stories, and ponder them throughout the day, sometimes for several days. Because my goal is to have a sample chapter written by September for submission to the publisher I'm hoping will be interested in this book, I've been largely focusing on the shelter chapter, which covers not only building but living comfortably – thus the sections on staying both warm and cool. Plus it's the area most of my energies are focused on right now anyway, as I disassemble the 8x12 to make room for something a little larger.
After letting the ideas percolate, I sit down each evening and write. Longhand. I actually got the idea from an Amish woman whose column I read in the local paper some years back. She wrote her column longhand and mailed it to the paper where they typed it up. I do a little editing while writing, but most of it is just a word change here and there, the gist of the section having already drafted itself in my head. So with pen in hand, by the light of an oil lamp, with the sounds of birds chirping, frogs trilling, and depending on recent rains possibly the river at the edge of the property flowing, the words seem to tumble out onto the paper. Except for that week of writers block, where I was attempting to force out words that weren't ready yet! I'm still both frustrated and amused that what seemed a most basic concept resisted communication at that particular time! Okay, lesson learned – the right words will flow when they're ready.
Rather than have someone else do my typing, however, (which I did consider) I have discovered that I can sometimes better clarify an idea as I translate ink to electrons. I also sometimes write notes to myself in the margins to verify something that emerged from the recesses of my brain when I have internet access – usually a book title or author.
Most mornings, after feeding the pigs and other homestead chores, I sit at my desk in the main house and utilize the net access there to type and post the previous evening's writing. The past several days, however, the internet has not been cooperating, and some days I just plain run out of time to get a post submitted! So while there may be some days where nothing new appears, fear not. The ideas are still percolating, and the pen (third one actually!) is still flowing. I'm just wondering what will happen if and when the book is technically finished!
I started out with (and still use) a list of topics that I basically brainstormed in a single session. Topics that emphasized the 'why' as much as the 'how', including things that I, and therefore probably others, have struggled with. From the outset, I wanted this book to be as much about the trial and errors as the successes, to be stories that people could relate to rather than be awed by.
A few weeks into the project I sorted the list into something resembling a table of contents (TOC), to help ensure I covered topics I may have missed in that original brainstorm session. As additional topic ideas occur to me, I add them to the list and try to figure out where they might fit into the TOC.
I look at both of these fairly often and see what jumps out at me, what triggers ideas or stories, and ponder them throughout the day, sometimes for several days. Because my goal is to have a sample chapter written by September for submission to the publisher I'm hoping will be interested in this book, I've been largely focusing on the shelter chapter, which covers not only building but living comfortably – thus the sections on staying both warm and cool. Plus it's the area most of my energies are focused on right now anyway, as I disassemble the 8x12 to make room for something a little larger.
After letting the ideas percolate, I sit down each evening and write. Longhand. I actually got the idea from an Amish woman whose column I read in the local paper some years back. She wrote her column longhand and mailed it to the paper where they typed it up. I do a little editing while writing, but most of it is just a word change here and there, the gist of the section having already drafted itself in my head. So with pen in hand, by the light of an oil lamp, with the sounds of birds chirping, frogs trilling, and depending on recent rains possibly the river at the edge of the property flowing, the words seem to tumble out onto the paper. Except for that week of writers block, where I was attempting to force out words that weren't ready yet! I'm still both frustrated and amused that what seemed a most basic concept resisted communication at that particular time! Okay, lesson learned – the right words will flow when they're ready.
Rather than have someone else do my typing, however, (which I did consider) I have discovered that I can sometimes better clarify an idea as I translate ink to electrons. I also sometimes write notes to myself in the margins to verify something that emerged from the recesses of my brain when I have internet access – usually a book title or author.
Most mornings, after feeding the pigs and other homestead chores, I sit at my desk in the main house and utilize the net access there to type and post the previous evening's writing. The past several days, however, the internet has not been cooperating, and some days I just plain run out of time to get a post submitted! So while there may be some days where nothing new appears, fear not. The ideas are still percolating, and the pen (third one actually!) is still flowing. I'm just wondering what will happen if and when the book is technically finished!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Women as Builders
I wish I recalled where I read the story, but a Michigan fellow went to Mexico where his son (or grandson?) was marrying a local gal. In conjunction with the wedding, I do not recall if it was before or after, he observed the locals building a home for the newlyweds. He described the making of roof tiles, shaping the wet mud over one's thigh, then setting them out to dry in the sun before placing the tiles atop the adobe structure. Sure, several of the tiles would break, during as well as after drying, but even those shards had useful applications elsewhere. By the time the fellow was due to leave, the newlyweds had their own home, with no mortgage, effectively built by themselves and their community.
Another unremembered source indicated to me that in many Southwestern Indian/Mexican cultures, the home was the domain of the women, not only in the keeping but also in the construction. At a friend's house recently, I watched a television show about current-day Russian reindeer herders who used poles and hides to erect tents much like the Tipis of the American Plains Indians. These too are built (assembled?) by the women.
So why does the current culture feel that building is something only a strong man can do? Doubtless the differing standards of construction has much to do with it. In many areas codes no longer allow for the types of structures women have built and lived in for countless centuries, instead requiring commercial materials that are not as easily handled by a single or group of individuals. I fully believe any woman can build her own home, whether using older indigenous styles or more modern methods. Allow the code to guide you past mistakes they were written to address, but don't be afraid to suggest uncommon methods to an inspector if you must deal with one. When my grandmother built their retirement house, she used modern methods with some adaptations. She couldn't handle half-inch thick drywall herself, so she used two layers of quarter-inch instead.
Many tools and adaptations exist to allow someone to build solo. Panel lifts, whether for drywall or sheathing, are just one example. (Book reference: Working Alone: Tips and Techniques for Solo Building by John Carroll)
One reason I enjoy working (and living) along is being able to work at my own pace, on my own schedule. I would probably get more done and more quickly if I had someone commenting when I stop to watch the clouds rolling by, or sneak off into the woods to see if that noise might be the porcupine I saw the week before, but it's those exact moments that I savor, that are my rewards for the effort I've put into redefining my life according to my own goals and expectations. I will admit to missing having that special someone to share these things with, but I doubt I will ever miss those days where one wants to be 'productive' and the other wants only to relax!
Most of all, have confidence that what you're doing isn't actually unusual. For eons, humans, just like birds and beavers, have built their own homes. It is only recently, relative to the lifespan of humanity, that we have come to expect others to build our homes for us and be indebted for that service. There is a long history of not only people, but women, building their own homes. You can continue that legacy!
Another unremembered source indicated to me that in many Southwestern Indian/Mexican cultures, the home was the domain of the women, not only in the keeping but also in the construction. At a friend's house recently, I watched a television show about current-day Russian reindeer herders who used poles and hides to erect tents much like the Tipis of the American Plains Indians. These too are built (assembled?) by the women.
So why does the current culture feel that building is something only a strong man can do? Doubtless the differing standards of construction has much to do with it. In many areas codes no longer allow for the types of structures women have built and lived in for countless centuries, instead requiring commercial materials that are not as easily handled by a single or group of individuals. I fully believe any woman can build her own home, whether using older indigenous styles or more modern methods. Allow the code to guide you past mistakes they were written to address, but don't be afraid to suggest uncommon methods to an inspector if you must deal with one. When my grandmother built their retirement house, she used modern methods with some adaptations. She couldn't handle half-inch thick drywall herself, so she used two layers of quarter-inch instead.
Many tools and adaptations exist to allow someone to build solo. Panel lifts, whether for drywall or sheathing, are just one example. (Book reference: Working Alone: Tips and Techniques for Solo Building by John Carroll)
One reason I enjoy working (and living) along is being able to work at my own pace, on my own schedule. I would probably get more done and more quickly if I had someone commenting when I stop to watch the clouds rolling by, or sneak off into the woods to see if that noise might be the porcupine I saw the week before, but it's those exact moments that I savor, that are my rewards for the effort I've put into redefining my life according to my own goals and expectations. I will admit to missing having that special someone to share these things with, but I doubt I will ever miss those days where one wants to be 'productive' and the other wants only to relax!
Most of all, have confidence that what you're doing isn't actually unusual. For eons, humans, just like birds and beavers, have built their own homes. It is only recently, relative to the lifespan of humanity, that we have come to expect others to build our homes for us and be indebted for that service. There is a long history of not only people, but women, building their own homes. You can continue that legacy!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Why I Love Tiny Houses
-They're so darn cozy!
-Everything is within reach, or just a few steps away
-They encourage minimalism, discourage consumerism
-Cleaning is fast
-They use fewer materials and resources – in both construction and maintenance
-Easier to heat and cool
-Lot of natural light
-They can make great “pocket communities” http://pocket-neighborhoods.net/
-Or leave more land to nature
-You don't need an intercom system to find other occupants
-Multi-functional rooms mean less wasted space. (A living room *and* family room? Dining room *and* eat-in kitchen? Really?)
-Less costly to buy or build
-Less costly to furnish
-Because smaller quantities are needed, higher quality materials become more affordable http://www.notsobighouse.com/
-Everything is within reach, or just a few steps away
-They encourage minimalism, discourage consumerism
-Cleaning is fast
-They use fewer materials and resources – in both construction and maintenance
-Easier to heat and cool
-Lot of natural light
-They can make great “pocket communities” http://pocket-neighborhoods.net/
-Or leave more land to nature
-You don't need an intercom system to find other occupants
-Multi-functional rooms mean less wasted space. (A living room *and* family room? Dining room *and* eat-in kitchen? Really?)
-Less costly to buy or build
-Less costly to furnish
-Because smaller quantities are needed, higher quality materials become more affordable http://www.notsobighouse.com/
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Writer's Block
I've had writers block for the last week. I remember listening to Lois McMaster Bujold (probably best known for her delightful Miles Vorkosigan series) talking about writer's block. She said her characters would occasionally stubbornly sit down, go on strike, and refuse to follow her intentions. Finally she would understand what the characters themselves wanted to do, and the words would flow once again.
It sounded very odd to me at the time, and yet that's pretty much how this past week has felt. I have the bullet list of points I wanted to make under Cooling Options Parts 2 and 3, but the words refused to flow. I made attempts, forcing the words out, but they were stilted, jerky, and refused to stay on topic, constantly veering off in barely-related tangental directions. And these are simple ideas, not even complex characters! What sort of rebellion, or strike, can this be?
I caved, I admitted defeat. I threw my hands up and said fine, I won't write about you, you obstinate stubborn cooling options! Obviously now is not your time. Who would have thought that simple living alternatives were such prima donnas, refusing the stage because they weren't ready yet?!
So who knows what the next topic will be. For now, I'm going to read a book instead of attempting to write one. And eventually I will understand just what it is my characters, er, topics, want to do next!
It sounded very odd to me at the time, and yet that's pretty much how this past week has felt. I have the bullet list of points I wanted to make under Cooling Options Parts 2 and 3, but the words refused to flow. I made attempts, forcing the words out, but they were stilted, jerky, and refused to stay on topic, constantly veering off in barely-related tangental directions. And these are simple ideas, not even complex characters! What sort of rebellion, or strike, can this be?
I caved, I admitted defeat. I threw my hands up and said fine, I won't write about you, you obstinate stubborn cooling options! Obviously now is not your time. Who would have thought that simple living alternatives were such prima donnas, refusing the stage because they weren't ready yet?!
So who knows what the next topic will be. For now, I'm going to read a book instead of attempting to write one. And eventually I will understand just what it is my characters, er, topics, want to do next!
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Pelt Concept
I recently read a wonderful book (it happened to be post-apocalyptic, a genre I enjoy, but it was actually recommended to me by a wolf expert for the realistic portrayal of wolf behavior), and there was one passage that really struck me. So much so I had to borrow the book again to get the exact text:
“Again he fell into the habit of wearing the same amount of clothing no matter what the temperature was, and being more or less indifferent to whether he needed warmth or was too hot – except that he stowed the leather jacket away. Also, the daily habit of shaving he had resumed briefly at the pass was forgotten. His beard once more was full and black. It was almost as if his clothing had become his pelt, as Wolf's pelt was his; and there was no reason to think of making changes in it simply to adapt to small changes in temperature.
So he let his beard grow and lived in his clothes. These things were unimportant.”
Wolf and Iron, Gordon R. Dickson
Imagine if we did not have cultural expectations, importance, to change our clothing daily or sometimes it seems even hourly! If we were able to wear something that was comfortable for whatever the activity, and that “small changes” of 10, 20, possibly more, degrees made little difference to our overall comfort. I have often envied animals for their ability to lie in the snow, stand in the rain, whatever the situation, with no apparent discomfort. Haired animals that thicken their coats for the cold of winter, then shed them for the heat of summer, but not constantly shrugging in and out of layers on a daily basis.
It could be argued that they may prefer to be able to change and simply aren't able. I'm inclined to believe they simply don't need to, and that humans, amazingly wonderfully adaptable creatures, have taken adaptability a bit too far and seriously limited our own comfort range.
“Again he fell into the habit of wearing the same amount of clothing no matter what the temperature was, and being more or less indifferent to whether he needed warmth or was too hot – except that he stowed the leather jacket away. Also, the daily habit of shaving he had resumed briefly at the pass was forgotten. His beard once more was full and black. It was almost as if his clothing had become his pelt, as Wolf's pelt was his; and there was no reason to think of making changes in it simply to adapt to small changes in temperature.
So he let his beard grow and lived in his clothes. These things were unimportant.”
Wolf and Iron, Gordon R. Dickson
Imagine if we did not have cultural expectations, importance, to change our clothing daily or sometimes it seems even hourly! If we were able to wear something that was comfortable for whatever the activity, and that “small changes” of 10, 20, possibly more, degrees made little difference to our overall comfort. I have often envied animals for their ability to lie in the snow, stand in the rain, whatever the situation, with no apparent discomfort. Haired animals that thicken their coats for the cold of winter, then shed them for the heat of summer, but not constantly shrugging in and out of layers on a daily basis.
It could be argued that they may prefer to be able to change and simply aren't able. I'm inclined to believe they simply don't need to, and that humans, amazingly wonderfully adaptable creatures, have taken adaptability a bit too far and seriously limited our own comfort range.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Cooling Options, Part One
Cooling Options, Part One
After I brainstormed a list of cooling options, it appeared to me that they fall into three broad categories – the environment that surrounds you, personal habits that can be adopted, and methods of cooling the body itself. Somewhat like moving from a macro to a micro scale.
Broadly speaking, the environmental category has much to do with your shelter choice. The first is geography. If you hate heat and humidity, you may not want to live in the Southeast US. Likewise, if you detest any kind of heat, both the Southwest and Midwest are probably poor settlement choices. I choose to live in the more northern latitudes in large part (but not entirely) due to an aversion to heat. Higher altitudes also have the same general effect. (There is a conversion between altitude and latitude, but I don't have the specific numbers off-hand. A quick Google search indicates one potential conversion rate is 1000' of altitude is equivalent to 300 miles of latitude, but don't bank on that without further research.) Such a move need not even be permanent – many people migrate seasonally. Retired “snowbirds” are usually the first to come to mind, but it wasn't all that many decades ago that mother would take the children to a summer house during the school break, with father joining them on the weekend. Many American Indian tribes had similar seasonal nomadic tendencies – summer fishing camps and winter hunting grounds. (This is one of the countless reasons Indian reservations were a foolish concept.)
In a permanent residence, cooling considerations used to be, and still can be, critical design elements. The courtyards of the Middle East and Mediterranean are designed to provide open yet shaded areas. The decorative grillwork on windows allowed light to enter, while limiting direct solar gain. Thick masonry walls changed temperature much more slowly than thin modern ones. Sometimes this can backfire however, as seen in Chicago's brick bungalows. Once they heat up, they tend to stay hot, leading to unnecessary deaths during periodic heat waves. Another building options is sizing the roof overhang or installing shade canopies. The main house of the property I live on uses a couple of these techniques – the thick concrete block walls resist penetration of summer heat, while the roof overhand was calculated to block the high summer sun while inviting entry of the low winter sun. There is a drawback to this fixed system, however – the concept of Thermal Lag.
Thermal lag refers to the time delay between insolation (basically sun penetration) and temperature change. We see this in the summer, when the sun reaches its maximum in June (my apologies to those in the Southern Hemisphere) but the temperatures don't reach their maximum until July or August. The same thing happens in the winter – the solar minimum is in December, but the general temperatures keep dropping into January and February. A fixed solar-blocking system can easily be calculated to limit July and August's insolation, but with the effect of also blocking April and May's, spring months where the additional solar influence may be desired. This is where adjustable systems may be preferred instead, canvas awnings for instance. These I have no experience with.
The daily, as well as annual, changes can be utilized as well. Opening up the house at night, encouraging cooling evening breezes, then closing the house during the day to retain the milder air. This is most effective in areas with significant day and night temperature changes. I'm always surprised more people don't do this, but it does require more awareness and action than simply setting an AC thermostat. I for one enjoy taking an active role in my environmental management, of feeling aware and connected to the world around me.
After I brainstormed a list of cooling options, it appeared to me that they fall into three broad categories – the environment that surrounds you, personal habits that can be adopted, and methods of cooling the body itself. Somewhat like moving from a macro to a micro scale.
Broadly speaking, the environmental category has much to do with your shelter choice. The first is geography. If you hate heat and humidity, you may not want to live in the Southeast US. Likewise, if you detest any kind of heat, both the Southwest and Midwest are probably poor settlement choices. I choose to live in the more northern latitudes in large part (but not entirely) due to an aversion to heat. Higher altitudes also have the same general effect. (There is a conversion between altitude and latitude, but I don't have the specific numbers off-hand. A quick Google search indicates one potential conversion rate is 1000' of altitude is equivalent to 300 miles of latitude, but don't bank on that without further research.) Such a move need not even be permanent – many people migrate seasonally. Retired “snowbirds” are usually the first to come to mind, but it wasn't all that many decades ago that mother would take the children to a summer house during the school break, with father joining them on the weekend. Many American Indian tribes had similar seasonal nomadic tendencies – summer fishing camps and winter hunting grounds. (This is one of the countless reasons Indian reservations were a foolish concept.)
In a permanent residence, cooling considerations used to be, and still can be, critical design elements. The courtyards of the Middle East and Mediterranean are designed to provide open yet shaded areas. The decorative grillwork on windows allowed light to enter, while limiting direct solar gain. Thick masonry walls changed temperature much more slowly than thin modern ones. Sometimes this can backfire however, as seen in Chicago's brick bungalows. Once they heat up, they tend to stay hot, leading to unnecessary deaths during periodic heat waves. Another building options is sizing the roof overhang or installing shade canopies. The main house of the property I live on uses a couple of these techniques – the thick concrete block walls resist penetration of summer heat, while the roof overhand was calculated to block the high summer sun while inviting entry of the low winter sun. There is a drawback to this fixed system, however – the concept of Thermal Lag.
Thermal lag refers to the time delay between insolation (basically sun penetration) and temperature change. We see this in the summer, when the sun reaches its maximum in June (my apologies to those in the Southern Hemisphere) but the temperatures don't reach their maximum until July or August. The same thing happens in the winter – the solar minimum is in December, but the general temperatures keep dropping into January and February. A fixed solar-blocking system can easily be calculated to limit July and August's insolation, but with the effect of also blocking April and May's, spring months where the additional solar influence may be desired. This is where adjustable systems may be preferred instead, canvas awnings for instance. These I have no experience with.
The daily, as well as annual, changes can be utilized as well. Opening up the house at night, encouraging cooling evening breezes, then closing the house during the day to retain the milder air. This is most effective in areas with significant day and night temperature changes. I'm always surprised more people don't do this, but it does require more awareness and action than simply setting an AC thermostat. I for one enjoy taking an active role in my environmental management, of feeling aware and connected to the world around me.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Seasonal Sleep Patterns
Summer arrived rather emphatically this week – 90s and humid! Of course, I picked the two hottest days of the year to deconstruct the temporary cabin. At least I'm *hoping* they're the two hottest days!
Accordingly, I have shifted to a summer sleep schedule – up early, then a mid-day siesta. Unfortunately the crows also shifted to their summer schedule – up earlier than me, disrupting my last bit of sleep. Thanks guys.
So my plan for Wednesday had been to be up and moving by 6am, three hours earlier than my winter schedule of 9am. Note that's up and moving, not just awake. Very different concepts here! I enjoy my leisurely mornings.
I woke up around 4am, and observing the brightening sky, bemusedly noted that without the daylight saving change, dawn would be around the time some of my friends seem to finally head to bed! Ah, I can sleep another hour or so, yay! Wrong. The crows started their show at 4:30. I'm not sure if it was a drama or a sit-com, but it was very noisy and lasted almost exactly one hour. At 5:30 I was allowed to drift back to sleep, and it was nearly 7 by the time I was able to get up and moving! The best laid plans...
Despite the “late” start, I actually got quite a bit done. I had expected to take most of the afternoon to work on indoor projects at the main house, and was surprised to find it already well after noon when I felt I'd had enough of the heat. I then went back to work for a few more hours in the evening. I did get my siesta nap though!
Much like the semi-annual clock change, it'll take me a few days to get used to the earlier, and less leisurely, mornings. But by mid-day, I'm more than happy to stop working in the heat and enjoy a delayed leisurely awakening from a siesta nap.
This is just one of the many methods I use to deal with heat. I have a whole list of them I'll be sharing with you over the next few days. Stay tuned, I'm sure the crow show will be back right after the break.
Accordingly, I have shifted to a summer sleep schedule – up early, then a mid-day siesta. Unfortunately the crows also shifted to their summer schedule – up earlier than me, disrupting my last bit of sleep. Thanks guys.
So my plan for Wednesday had been to be up and moving by 6am, three hours earlier than my winter schedule of 9am. Note that's up and moving, not just awake. Very different concepts here! I enjoy my leisurely mornings.
I woke up around 4am, and observing the brightening sky, bemusedly noted that without the daylight saving change, dawn would be around the time some of my friends seem to finally head to bed! Ah, I can sleep another hour or so, yay! Wrong. The crows started their show at 4:30. I'm not sure if it was a drama or a sit-com, but it was very noisy and lasted almost exactly one hour. At 5:30 I was allowed to drift back to sleep, and it was nearly 7 by the time I was able to get up and moving! The best laid plans...
Despite the “late” start, I actually got quite a bit done. I had expected to take most of the afternoon to work on indoor projects at the main house, and was surprised to find it already well after noon when I felt I'd had enough of the heat. I then went back to work for a few more hours in the evening. I did get my siesta nap though!
Much like the semi-annual clock change, it'll take me a few days to get used to the earlier, and less leisurely, mornings. But by mid-day, I'm more than happy to stop working in the heat and enjoy a delayed leisurely awakening from a siesta nap.
This is just one of the many methods I use to deal with heat. I have a whole list of them I'll be sharing with you over the next few days. Stay tuned, I'm sure the crow show will be back right after the break.
A cool lighting alternative
A friend of mine sent me this link, figuring I'd be interested. It's a really cool low-cost way to bring daylighting into the interior of a building. I don't see needing to use it myself, but others may have a dark room they want to lighten up:
http://www.wimp.com/lightbulb/
http://www.wimp.com/lightbulb/
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Root Cellar Dreams
Since I don't plan to have electric (or only very little to recharge batteries for various radios and flashlights), I don't expect to have a frig. At least not in the modern Western sense. (Don't worry, I'll explore both of those concepts more later!)
As I was brainstorming my Wall O Jars concept, I also listed things I'd like to keep in the root cellar. For doing sizing math I decided to use banana boxes, although I don't expect they'd be the best choice for all produce varieties.
My initial estimate of root cellar inhabitants (see below) was about 40 boxes. Banana boxes are 16”wx10”hx20”d. Using the same math as for the canning jars, I got 40 x 16” / 12” per foot = 53.3 linear feet. If I figure 8 foot shelves, that'd be 6.7, or 7, shelves. Wanting a bit of wiggle space between boxes, I'll only plan 5, not 6, boxes per 8' shelf. That also leaves wall and insulation space if I'm making an 8' outbuilding.
So. Figure an 8'x8'x8' square box of a building/structure/cave/what-have-you, put 20” deep shelves down both size, and you'll have a spacious 56” aisle (or less, depending on walls and insulation.) If the shelves are spaced 16” apart (although I'm more likely to make variable height shelves) you can fit 6 shelves on each side. 6 shelves x 2 sides x 5 boxes per shelf = 60 boxes. Awesome!
Good, because I was a little worried about reading that Sharon Astyk's family store 15 bushels of just apples every year! But they also have a lot more people eating them than I do. Plus I also had items on my root cellar list that can be stored inside a cool (50-60F) house too, like pumpkins and squashes. Hmm, maybe I can “rent” out extra space to neighbors! Now I just have to figure out where and how to build the darn thing.
Apples: lots, variety
Potatoes: some, few
Onions: lots, few
Garlic: lots, few
Squashes: lots, variety
Cabbage: many, few
Carrots: many, few
Rutabagas/Turnips: few, few
Beets: few, one
Whoops, forgot parsnips: few, one
As I was brainstorming my Wall O Jars concept, I also listed things I'd like to keep in the root cellar. For doing sizing math I decided to use banana boxes, although I don't expect they'd be the best choice for all produce varieties.
My initial estimate of root cellar inhabitants (see below) was about 40 boxes. Banana boxes are 16”wx10”hx20”d. Using the same math as for the canning jars, I got 40 x 16” / 12” per foot = 53.3 linear feet. If I figure 8 foot shelves, that'd be 6.7, or 7, shelves. Wanting a bit of wiggle space between boxes, I'll only plan 5, not 6, boxes per 8' shelf. That also leaves wall and insulation space if I'm making an 8' outbuilding.
So. Figure an 8'x8'x8' square box of a building/structure/cave/what-have-you, put 20” deep shelves down both size, and you'll have a spacious 56” aisle (or less, depending on walls and insulation.) If the shelves are spaced 16” apart (although I'm more likely to make variable height shelves) you can fit 6 shelves on each side. 6 shelves x 2 sides x 5 boxes per shelf = 60 boxes. Awesome!
Good, because I was a little worried about reading that Sharon Astyk's family store 15 bushels of just apples every year! But they also have a lot more people eating them than I do. Plus I also had items on my root cellar list that can be stored inside a cool (50-60F) house too, like pumpkins and squashes. Hmm, maybe I can “rent” out extra space to neighbors! Now I just have to figure out where and how to build the darn thing.
Apples: lots, variety
Potatoes: some, few
Onions: lots, few
Garlic: lots, few
Squashes: lots, variety
Cabbage: many, few
Carrots: many, few
Rutabagas/Turnips: few, few
Beets: few, one
Whoops, forgot parsnips: few, one
Monday, June 6, 2011
My Dream Kitchen
I think it was Elliot Coleman who described his ideal grocery store, filled with only real, whole, unprocessed foods. That inspired me to envision what my ideal kitchen will look like. I started brainstorming, and honestly was surprised at the length of the list I came up with!
I'm picturing a Wall O Jars, mostly home canned (gotta order some of those Tattler reusable canning lids!), supplemented by some commercial ones (familiarity, convenience, and because I don't necessarily want to spend ALL my time growing and canning!) I like the idea of having a lot of healthy ingredients readily available to throw meals together with.
As I was making my list, I also made two columns for depth and width of storage. Depth indicates the number of them I would want to keep on hand regularly while width indicated the variety of that item. For things I use many of (like pasta sauce), there would be secondary storage outside the kitchen. For those I use few of (like pickle relish), the jars on the kitchen shelves will be sufficient.
Prepared meals (chili, stews, soups): many jars, many varieties
Pasta sauce: many jars, few varieties,
Canned meats: many, many
Canned veges: many, many
Canned fruits: many, many
Canned diced tomatoes: many, few
Jelly: few, few
Dehydrated eggs: few, one
Dehydrated meats: many, variety
Sprouting seeds: few, few
Condiments (pickle relish, ketchup, maple syrup): few, one each
Kimchi (?)
Nuts: few, few
Peanut butter: some, one
Salt: many, one
Sugar: few, few
Honey: some, one
Alcohol (drinking and preservation): ?
Rice: few, one
Tea ingredients (herbs): few, variety
Spices: few, large variety
Yoikes! That's about 50 jars wide! Okay, some quick math: a box of 12 quart jars is 12”x16”; pint jars are 11”x15”. So figure 4” per jar (if well stacked with no space between them). 50 jars x 4” wide = 200” linear inches. Divided by 12” per foot = 16.6 linear feet. Divided by the 6' shelves I have planned for the kitchen = 2.8 shelves. Hey, that's not so bad! Of course the spices will be in their own space – I have a ungodly number of those tiny jars!
(shorthand version: 50x4”/12” per foot/6'shelves=2.8
The other way of looking at it is: 6' shelves holds 18 jars wide. Three shelves gives me a capacity of 54 jars. How many of each flavor depends on whether the shelves are 12” or 16” deep. I'm inclined to go 16”, but we'll see when I actually have the room built how that feels.
I'm picturing a Wall O Jars, mostly home canned (gotta order some of those Tattler reusable canning lids!), supplemented by some commercial ones (familiarity, convenience, and because I don't necessarily want to spend ALL my time growing and canning!) I like the idea of having a lot of healthy ingredients readily available to throw meals together with.
As I was making my list, I also made two columns for depth and width of storage. Depth indicates the number of them I would want to keep on hand regularly while width indicated the variety of that item. For things I use many of (like pasta sauce), there would be secondary storage outside the kitchen. For those I use few of (like pickle relish), the jars on the kitchen shelves will be sufficient.
Prepared meals (chili, stews, soups): many jars, many varieties
Pasta sauce: many jars, few varieties,
Canned meats: many, many
Canned veges: many, many
Canned fruits: many, many
Canned diced tomatoes: many, few
Jelly: few, few
Dehydrated eggs: few, one
Dehydrated meats: many, variety
Sprouting seeds: few, few
Condiments (pickle relish, ketchup, maple syrup): few, one each
Kimchi (?)
Nuts: few, few
Peanut butter: some, one
Salt: many, one
Sugar: few, few
Honey: some, one
Alcohol (drinking and preservation): ?
Rice: few, one
Tea ingredients (herbs): few, variety
Spices: few, large variety
Yoikes! That's about 50 jars wide! Okay, some quick math: a box of 12 quart jars is 12”x16”; pint jars are 11”x15”. So figure 4” per jar (if well stacked with no space between them). 50 jars x 4” wide = 200” linear inches. Divided by 12” per foot = 16.6 linear feet. Divided by the 6' shelves I have planned for the kitchen = 2.8 shelves. Hey, that's not so bad! Of course the spices will be in their own space – I have a ungodly number of those tiny jars!
(shorthand version: 50x4”/12” per foot/6'shelves=2.8
The other way of looking at it is: 6' shelves holds 18 jars wide. Three shelves gives me a capacity of 54 jars. How many of each flavor depends on whether the shelves are 12” or 16” deep. I'm inclined to go 16”, but we'll see when I actually have the room built how that feels.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Construction Choices
I have enjoyed drawing house floor plans for as long as I can remember, and have long dreamed of building my own house. It must run in my family – my mom also enjoyed drawing floor plans, my uncle built at least three of his own houses that I know of, and my grandmother did the majority of the work on my grandparents retirement house (she once described it as the shop class she wasn't allowed to take in school, being forced to learn cooking and sewing in Home Ec instead).
I always figured I would build something alternative, and took many opportunities to learn some of the various methods. I attended a hands-on timber framing workshop. I volunteered on a cob construction project for a homeless family. I worked with various Habitat for Humanity chapters, one of which was erecting a passive-solar straw bale house, the others using conventional stick-framing. I helped some friends build their surface bonded (as opposed to mortared) concrete block house, and with another friend's cobwood (combination cob and firewood-size logs) shed. I studied Mike Ohler's “$50 and Up Underground House” book and the University of Minnesota's underground housing research. I pondered the Nearing's stone structures. I briefly looked into tire homes, rammed earth, and earthbag construction, although those styles don't appeal to me. I don't care for the look (and maintenance) of chinked log homes either, but I find scribe-fit style log home immensely appealing.
So I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that my permanent house is going to be conventionally commonly stick-built.
I don't have the skill or patience for timber framing. The clay around here is not conducive to cob. I don't like the aesthetics (or acoustics) of concrete or block. The fact that the Nearing's stone homestead in Maine was closed for mold remediation last year is a strong deterrent to using that method! And the trees I have access to are too small for log construction.
So stick framing it is. It will be my home, that I designed, that I built. Albeit with guidance from an experienced builder friend to make sure I get sufficient insulation and other details!
Dreams do come true! (Although not without a lot of mental as well as physical effort.)
I always figured I would build something alternative, and took many opportunities to learn some of the various methods. I attended a hands-on timber framing workshop. I volunteered on a cob construction project for a homeless family. I worked with various Habitat for Humanity chapters, one of which was erecting a passive-solar straw bale house, the others using conventional stick-framing. I helped some friends build their surface bonded (as opposed to mortared) concrete block house, and with another friend's cobwood (combination cob and firewood-size logs) shed. I studied Mike Ohler's “$50 and Up Underground House” book and the University of Minnesota's underground housing research. I pondered the Nearing's stone structures. I briefly looked into tire homes, rammed earth, and earthbag construction, although those styles don't appeal to me. I don't care for the look (and maintenance) of chinked log homes either, but I find scribe-fit style log home immensely appealing.
So I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that my permanent house is going to be conventionally commonly stick-built.
I don't have the skill or patience for timber framing. The clay around here is not conducive to cob. I don't like the aesthetics (or acoustics) of concrete or block. The fact that the Nearing's stone homestead in Maine was closed for mold remediation last year is a strong deterrent to using that method! And the trees I have access to are too small for log construction.
So stick framing it is. It will be my home, that I designed, that I built. Albeit with guidance from an experienced builder friend to make sure I get sufficient insulation and other details!
Dreams do come true! (Although not without a lot of mental as well as physical effort.)
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Finding Your Place
Many books have been written about finding and buying your place, whether in the country or in the city. But I think one option is too often overlooked – renting.
It can be scary to make long-term plans and goals for a property you don't own. But do any of us really own the places we live? A mortgage simply means you're renting from a bank. And a place owned “free and clear” is still subject to local government regulations and whims. Can a property where the owner is forced out by tax increases truly be considered free and clear? Or subject to eminent domain, a use change dictated “for the greater good”? I would argue that none of us truly own the places we live, although I will agree there are great differences in risk levels.
My then-partner and I rented a house on 10 acres in the late 90s. We thought we were renting 10 acres with a house; the owner's teen-age son thought we were renting the house and continued to use the 10 acres to host drinking parties. I learned to be very clear about what exactly I was renting!
When I lived in Southern Indiana, I “rented” the land there from a credit union. But when I lost my job, I couldn't make the mortgage payments and had to leave, letting someone else take on the financial responsibility.
It was while I was living in the Chicago area that I discovered a most interesting book – Radical Simplicity by Dan Price. He described renting a two-acre property for $100 a year! He discussed his intentions and proposal with the owners, and they agreed any improvements he made would not be compensated if and when he left. I had heard of farmers leasing fields, but leasing one you could build on was a novel concept to me.
At that point, I was spending a lot of time with friends in the Champaign area, and considering moving there. So I started exploring, looking for rural property I might lease. Instead of the tipi Dan Price started out with, I had figured on a travel trailer or truck camper.
As it happens, I came to Maine to visit a friend I had met back when she also lived in the Chicago area. I had been out on previous extended visits to help build her house on a large rural property near the area where she had lived as a child. We discussed the land leasing idea, and I told her about Dan Price's method. She invited me to do the same type of scenario here, and after hashing out some details (not wanting a repeat of the teen drinking parties) we reached a surprisingly easy mutual agreement.
Never could I afford to purchase a property like this. But I can afford to rent it. Having an already longstanding friendship helped alleviate a lot of the risk concerns.
Owning land isn't the only option, and it isn't even always the best option. When trying to find your place, be sure to think outside the box. Who knows, you might discover that your place is a boat floating upon open waters!
It can be scary to make long-term plans and goals for a property you don't own. But do any of us really own the places we live? A mortgage simply means you're renting from a bank. And a place owned “free and clear” is still subject to local government regulations and whims. Can a property where the owner is forced out by tax increases truly be considered free and clear? Or subject to eminent domain, a use change dictated “for the greater good”? I would argue that none of us truly own the places we live, although I will agree there are great differences in risk levels.
My then-partner and I rented a house on 10 acres in the late 90s. We thought we were renting 10 acres with a house; the owner's teen-age son thought we were renting the house and continued to use the 10 acres to host drinking parties. I learned to be very clear about what exactly I was renting!
When I lived in Southern Indiana, I “rented” the land there from a credit union. But when I lost my job, I couldn't make the mortgage payments and had to leave, letting someone else take on the financial responsibility.
It was while I was living in the Chicago area that I discovered a most interesting book – Radical Simplicity by Dan Price. He described renting a two-acre property for $100 a year! He discussed his intentions and proposal with the owners, and they agreed any improvements he made would not be compensated if and when he left. I had heard of farmers leasing fields, but leasing one you could build on was a novel concept to me.
At that point, I was spending a lot of time with friends in the Champaign area, and considering moving there. So I started exploring, looking for rural property I might lease. Instead of the tipi Dan Price started out with, I had figured on a travel trailer or truck camper.
As it happens, I came to Maine to visit a friend I had met back when she also lived in the Chicago area. I had been out on previous extended visits to help build her house on a large rural property near the area where she had lived as a child. We discussed the land leasing idea, and I told her about Dan Price's method. She invited me to do the same type of scenario here, and after hashing out some details (not wanting a repeat of the teen drinking parties) we reached a surprisingly easy mutual agreement.
Never could I afford to purchase a property like this. But I can afford to rent it. Having an already longstanding friendship helped alleviate a lot of the risk concerns.
Owning land isn't the only option, and it isn't even always the best option. When trying to find your place, be sure to think outside the box. Who knows, you might discover that your place is a boat floating upon open waters!
Friday, June 3, 2011
Minimalism
I am in the process of taking down the tiny temporary cabin in preparation for building a slightly less tiny permanent one in the same spot. It was an incredibly difficult decision, trading the desired remote and scenic location for one with easy access but with disappointingly close proximity to neighbors.
It's been very interesting observing how much more quickly deconstruction goes, knowing how long it took me to construct it! The many hours of measuring and fitting the blue board insulation was removed in only a couple of hours. The struggle to install the chimney pipe, so easily dismantled. But the thing that really amazes me is how much STUFF I've moved out in the last few days.
I would love to be a minimalist. I aspire to be a minimalist. I fail to be a minimalist. I'm arguing with myself what it actually means to be a minimalist.
A couple days ago I removed everything I decided I wouldn't need in the next week. What's left will go into the tent I'll be living in during the reconstruction process. I love the feeling of how much space is in here now! The cabin feels much more like what I aspire to with minimalism, and how I'd like my new house to feel. I'm already wondering what's in all those bags and boxes that I hauled out of here, that I previously felt was needed. A bunch of books. Most of my food. One of my hammocks (the others are still in storage). The tiny woodstove, and its attendant kindling, firewood, ash bucket, stove poker and shovel are gone now. The extra bottle of lamp oil. I know there's more, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what right now.
This is something I have observed several times over the last 10 years as I search for my own personal minimalism. In the Great Downsizing of 2001 (trademark pending), I sold off nearly all my possessions in a late-summer garage sale. I thought that was it, I could now live a minimalist life. A few years later, I found had more stuff to get rid of - books I had purchased because I couldn't get them from the library, games I no longer played, clothes for jobs I used to have. Office supplies that are useful, but come in too-large quantities. Camping gear that had plain worn out and furniture that was displaced by an early inheritance. Materials for projects that never came to fruition. When I moved to Maine in 2009, more purging was required. I was shocked at how much stuff I still had to move.
It turns out that minimalism is a continuous process, not a one-time goal to achieve. Stuff has a way of sneaking back into our lives when we're not paying attention, and even when we think we are paying attention! Maybe minimalism isn't so much about how little you have or need, but rather about how consistently you cull.
I will never achieve owning only 100 items. I have too many interests which use various tools and materials. Besides, my idea of true wealth is plenty of spare food and lamp oil, along with a large pile of firewood! Thus the argument with myself about the meaning of minimalism continues, but really, I think understanding that it is a process, not a goal, is the true resolution. And I will continue to cull.
It's been very interesting observing how much more quickly deconstruction goes, knowing how long it took me to construct it! The many hours of measuring and fitting the blue board insulation was removed in only a couple of hours. The struggle to install the chimney pipe, so easily dismantled. But the thing that really amazes me is how much STUFF I've moved out in the last few days.
I would love to be a minimalist. I aspire to be a minimalist. I fail to be a minimalist. I'm arguing with myself what it actually means to be a minimalist.
A couple days ago I removed everything I decided I wouldn't need in the next week. What's left will go into the tent I'll be living in during the reconstruction process. I love the feeling of how much space is in here now! The cabin feels much more like what I aspire to with minimalism, and how I'd like my new house to feel. I'm already wondering what's in all those bags and boxes that I hauled out of here, that I previously felt was needed. A bunch of books. Most of my food. One of my hammocks (the others are still in storage). The tiny woodstove, and its attendant kindling, firewood, ash bucket, stove poker and shovel are gone now. The extra bottle of lamp oil. I know there's more, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what right now.
This is something I have observed several times over the last 10 years as I search for my own personal minimalism. In the Great Downsizing of 2001 (trademark pending), I sold off nearly all my possessions in a late-summer garage sale. I thought that was it, I could now live a minimalist life. A few years later, I found had more stuff to get rid of - books I had purchased because I couldn't get them from the library, games I no longer played, clothes for jobs I used to have. Office supplies that are useful, but come in too-large quantities. Camping gear that had plain worn out and furniture that was displaced by an early inheritance. Materials for projects that never came to fruition. When I moved to Maine in 2009, more purging was required. I was shocked at how much stuff I still had to move.
It turns out that minimalism is a continuous process, not a one-time goal to achieve. Stuff has a way of sneaking back into our lives when we're not paying attention, and even when we think we are paying attention! Maybe minimalism isn't so much about how little you have or need, but rather about how consistently you cull.
I will never achieve owning only 100 items. I have too many interests which use various tools and materials. Besides, my idea of true wealth is plenty of spare food and lamp oil, along with a large pile of firewood! Thus the argument with myself about the meaning of minimalism continues, but really, I think understanding that it is a process, not a goal, is the true resolution. And I will continue to cull.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
True Independence
I wrote this about a year ago, but it's one of those questions that I think never really has a solid answer. The answer(s) shift as life shifts, and is something to be periodically revisited by those attempting to live a sustainable life.
As I was standing in the shower, feeling slightly guilty about using extra electricity to pump the well water into the propane water heater in order to let it pound my sore muscles, I was thinking about how to make a stable sustainable society. Okay, I was actually thinking about who makes soap.
Anyone can make soap, but no one can do *all* the things that anyone can do! There just isn't enough time in the day. (Carla Emery in her giant tome "The Encyclopedia of Country Living" warns that no one can do everything in her book, that to try would take a 200 hour day!) Yesterday I was doing some deconstruction and harvesting building materials. Today I was helping a neighbor with butchering. So there I was, indulging my sore muscles in an unusually long hot shower, and I noticed my soap bar is getting thin. I no longer have contact with the gal I used to get my soap from. Does this mean I'm going to have to start making my own soap? That thought led to all the other things that individuals really only need a few of - wooden spoons, cast iron cookware, the aforementioned soap, butchering of meat, weaving of fabric, on and on.
My conclusion was that in order to have a truly sustainable society, everyone needs to be food sufficient, largely by raising their own food either directly in their own plots or indirectly in coops (shared labor providing more flexibility), PLUS have extra skills that benefit the community. Dependence on external markets for your survival (which for me keeps coming back to food, but also shelter) keeps a person enslaved, but non-survival items have more flexibility.
The food-sufficient soapmaker isn't dependent on soap purchasers for the soapmaker to eat. And if the soapmaker gets tired of making soap, no problem. Perhaps they'd rather build houses or weave baskets instead. They have that freedom, IF they aren't dependent on others for their very survival. I'm still wondering about the idea that the only thing then a person can't quit, is raising their food. Somehow we still end up being slaves to our stomachs!
How much freedom do you have to say "Take this job and shove it!"? How free are you? And is this whole soap question about freedom or sustainability? Then again, is life without freedom sustainable?
As I was standing in the shower, feeling slightly guilty about using extra electricity to pump the well water into the propane water heater in order to let it pound my sore muscles, I was thinking about how to make a stable sustainable society. Okay, I was actually thinking about who makes soap.
Anyone can make soap, but no one can do *all* the things that anyone can do! There just isn't enough time in the day. (Carla Emery in her giant tome "The Encyclopedia of Country Living" warns that no one can do everything in her book, that to try would take a 200 hour day!) Yesterday I was doing some deconstruction and harvesting building materials. Today I was helping a neighbor with butchering. So there I was, indulging my sore muscles in an unusually long hot shower, and I noticed my soap bar is getting thin. I no longer have contact with the gal I used to get my soap from. Does this mean I'm going to have to start making my own soap? That thought led to all the other things that individuals really only need a few of - wooden spoons, cast iron cookware, the aforementioned soap, butchering of meat, weaving of fabric, on and on.
My conclusion was that in order to have a truly sustainable society, everyone needs to be food sufficient, largely by raising their own food either directly in their own plots or indirectly in coops (shared labor providing more flexibility), PLUS have extra skills that benefit the community. Dependence on external markets for your survival (which for me keeps coming back to food, but also shelter) keeps a person enslaved, but non-survival items have more flexibility.
The food-sufficient soapmaker isn't dependent on soap purchasers for the soapmaker to eat. And if the soapmaker gets tired of making soap, no problem. Perhaps they'd rather build houses or weave baskets instead. They have that freedom, IF they aren't dependent on others for their very survival. I'm still wondering about the idea that the only thing then a person can't quit, is raising their food. Somehow we still end up being slaves to our stomachs!
How much freedom do you have to say "Take this job and shove it!"? How free are you? And is this whole soap question about freedom or sustainability? Then again, is life without freedom sustainable?
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