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/
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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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