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Wednesday Mar 24, 2010

Boldly going where no wheelbarrow has gone for a while

'This is a bicycle shop'. That was the puzzled response from the man behind the counter as I came in, knee-deep in wellies pushing a wheelbarrow, wearing gardening gloves. One thing it clearly wasn't, was a wheelbarrow shop. I'd arrived at the North London shop via Finsbury Park's most congested road looking like I belonged far, far away in the countryside. This was a high point of the weekend, and had me giggling like a child.

 

Working in community gardening projects, I have found to my amusement, often requires some imaginative thinking, and with a flat-tyred wheelbarrow and ten tonnes of soil to shift, there was only one option.

 

Two men had arrived shortly after we started ploughing into the improbable twin peaks of topsoil and dark, steaming (yes, hot and steaming) compost lying on the grass beside the children's nursery. These two brought fresh muscles and the wheelbarrow in question, but after several backbreaking barrowloads, driving the heavy earth up the plank ramp into the planters, enough was enough. After a few gentle pleas for anyone with a pump, I decided to put one of my special skills to use.

 

Heading from the safe confines of the park, I trundled out in mud-streaked jeans to the busy Saturday streets of Seven Sisters Road. I truly felt, passing the tube station and walking under the railway bridges amid the roar of noisy traffic that I had been transported inexplicably from a day on the farm straight into the heart of London.

 

Being a cyclist, and being woefully inadequate with any form of pump I have become expert at asking bicycle shops very nicely for all sorts of advice and use of their pumps, and to their credit they always come up trumps, and often do it for me if I do the job badly enough. Today, however, after some advice on the optimal tyre pressure for a wheelbarrow I took the barrow onto the street and carried out the operation myself.

 

To my surprise not only did the air go into the tyre, it stayed in there and I got it to the correct pressure, removing the pump to find everything was still in tact. Returning triumphantly along the busy streets we dug like crazy with a full complement of wheelbarrows.

Several hours later, exhausted and well into the drizzling afternoon we had filled eight large planters with soil and compost, and all the fruit shrubs and herbs were planted.

 

Standing back and admiring our work, the last few tired gardeners contempleted what they will look like as they grow, covering the fence, and sheilding the children from the distant but ever-present road. It is such an excellent, big space, tucked away in a corner of the park, shaded by huge London Planes with so much potential, it was really satisfying to nudge it from a two-dimensional grassy area to something which nurtures the growth of some beautiful, edible plants.

 

Hopefully generations of toddlers and their parents will be able to tend the trees and bushes as they grow, enjoying the fruit, and taking an important step to understanding their food and how easily they can grow it themselves.

Perhaps they'll even be driving their own wheelbarrows soon.

Posted by Laura ( 4:50 PM )
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Wednesday Feb 17, 2010

We came, we dug, we conquered

Weilding a mattock like a lame but determined workman wasn't the obvious choice of activity for this year's Valentine's day, but I embraced it nonetheless. Waking up grumpy from a long week involving too much work and not enough sleep, I arrived with trepidation at the portacabin of choice. Not for the first time the kindly and ever-inviting host/station supervisor made cups of tea, coaxing my sleepy head to life.

We chatted for a while until a few more people arrived, and eventually we poured out of the cabin like clowns out of a mini, to get to work. We unloaded Jo's granny trolley with spades, forks, lopping shears and the mighty mattock, all kindly loaned from BTCV (the British Trust for Conservation Volunteers). The only man among us went at a Mallow stump with the kind of gusto you can't help but admire, especially as he had not had much sleep either. There was no stopping him after that.

I started more slowly at one of the buddleias with a fork, trying to lever it straight out of the ground, and soon realised the only thing likely to give was the fork. Then I was introduced to the mattock. Essentially a sculpted post with a double-edged and fairly blunt axe on one end, it's amazing for rattling through unsuspecting soil at a rate of knots. In the right hands. In my hands it smacked into the ground with surprisingly little effect for quite a bit of effort. While I was a sorry excuse for a digger, Jo, a lot smaller in frame than me, was an impressive excavating machine. I thought I'd make up for my lack of mattock prowess by murmuring enthusiastic approval at her efforts. Yes, I was the cheerleading party.

As the land had been abandoned for so long the plants which had taken root there made it abundantly clear they weren't about to give up without a fight. Many had roots like the trunk of a small tree, and pulling them up was like an archaeological dig teamed with a war of wills. Digging down, you work out which direction the root goes, and start chopping off the underground branches. Then when it's all wobbly you heave and twist and hack (and maybe curse a little), and I even jumped up and down on one, while holding onto a nearby lamp post to stop myself breaking an ankle, before finally holding up the slain shrub like a victorious warrior. At least I hoisted it as far as my shoulder, it was extremely heavy.

The land cleared, we tied back a bramble we're hoping to cultivate for blackberries, we swept away litter to discover an old path and before long the space looked about twice its original size. With rainclouds looming we went off for a big lunch at a local cafe, and next week we hope to finally plant our trees.

After all the preparation, endless email strings and general co-ordination of efforts it seems like the end of a little era is approaching, but I feel really proud to have championed an idea that became something tangible, and that hopefully a lot of people will enjoy in the years to come.

Posted by Laura ( 12:00 PM )
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Tuesday Feb 02, 2010

Finding my career through volunteering

I lost count of the times people told me: 'Journalism is so competitive.' 'You'll never make it,' they might as well have said.

This week I'm glad I followed my heart, because I've just been given two more commissions to write articles for a national publication about what I love: the environment and green food production.

It's interesting at the turn of a new decade to look back and see how the decisions I've made carved a path to where I am today. I decided in 2005 after years of doing jobs where I felt unmotivated, that I needed do what I felt passionate about if I wanted to be happy. I decided journalism was for me: I love writing and I love to learn and to share my knowledge with others.

After finishing my degree and a journalism course I worked unpaid in various publications for almost a year, filling in the gaps with part-time temping jobs. Although the hours were changeable and pay varied from month to month, I decided it was worth it to pursue my dream - this was now the only thing I was willing to settle for.

Trying out things that I was interested in gave me invaluable experience, and contacts. Even in 12 months volunteering has focused my career ambitions.

Last January I applied for an internship at The Ecologist magazine. I wasn't sure, when they finally called me up with a month-long full-time slot, whether I wanted this. Luckily friends told me just go for it, I hadn't done environmental stuff before and it would show I'm adaptable. After all, my degree was in nutrition. Good advice, I thought.

During that month I uploaded archive articles on The Ecologist's website about anything from deep sea fishing methods and their impact on fish stocks, to the often toxic chemicals used in furniture and textiles production. I was hooked. What these people were writing about felt like what I wanted from life, it felt like by highlighting these issues these writers were really making a difference. After that there was no turning back.

After I'd finished there an old journalism lecturer sent out an email about a communications internship with the London Cycling Campaign. I'd done some work for them a year or two before, and liked what they did so I called them up and went along for an interview. I spent the next six months working one day a week as their newsletter editor interviewing people, writing news stories and uploading articles on the website. It was great experience, with amazing people. Through this work I made a contact at the Guardian and ended up writing a piece for their Bike Blog. After 11 months of working for free this was my first paid article.

I loved the idea of writing freelance: the fact you can choose what to write about, and for whom. I had been pitching story ideas at various publications for months, without success. It was really daunting and the 'Thanks but no thanks' weren't easy to deal with. Finally, last month I pitched a couple to The Ecologist, and they were accepted. It finally started to feel like all that work was paying off.

If I hadn't developed such a passion for the environment through my volunteer work I wouldn't have found out about the events and projects I am now writing about (I won't give the game away until they're finished, though). The various groups and events I have got involved in have made for good writing practice, even if no-one accepted the articles!

I remember thinking towards the end of last year: wouldn't it be amazing if I could be paid to write about all these amazing projects, and suddenly, it's happening. I know it's early days still and there's a long way to go, but it feels like a really good start.

The same people who said: 'You'll never make it' will probably say: 'You're lucky.' After all that hard work, though, I know different.

Posted by Laura ( 10:00 AM )
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Monday Dec 14, 2009

A land of random vegetables

I don't mean heart-shaped lettuces or carrots with two legs and a head, though I am tempted to attend the Feeding the 5000 event in Trafalgar Square on Wednesday, a free food event featuring odd-shaped veg that would otherwise been thrown away for not being a uniform size/shape. 

No, Transport for London (TfL) is joining the Capital Growth scheme, providing more land for food growing projects like mine across London (and hopefully a new era for amusingly-shaped veg!). The scheme's aim is to provide 2012 food growing spaces by 2012, all run by enthusiastic community gardeners (like me).

Reading into it a bit more I was surprised at just how much land TfL has in London. It's like a wealthy old aunt who's been sitting on a neat and not insignificant pile of cash all these years and you never had any idea. But when you add it up it makes sense.

TfL owns an estimated 10% of wildlife habitat in London. If you don't live in London you may not realise but further out of the city where floor space isn't so scarce the tube lines emerge from their claustrophobic pipes and and some points during the day you get sunlight and such surprising joys as the odd pigeon boarding the train. They waddle on to savour morsels of left-over snacks before hopping out again before the doors shut.

The other joy for a daydreamer like me is that you get to gaze out of the tube windows and marvel at various green bits of London, my favourite being on the District line to Kew Gardens where you actually cross the river. It's beyond exciting, I can tell you. When you think about it though, the green spaces that straddle the tracks are a perfect wildlife corridor, a network of greenery across London.

Thanks to TfL joining Capital Growth there is now a fruit and veg growing plot above Southwark station, which will be tended by locals in a nearby block of flats. Capital Growth is offering funds to support people who have such food growing schemes. I love the idea of growing your veg in unlikely places, it's a little bit anarchic, like saying "people live here and care about this place." Maybe more wealthy aunts will come forward and decide to get their hands dirty, too.

The thought that you could just come across a rogue cucumber or patch of radishes when out walking the dog or going about your daily commute is brilliant!

Posted by Laura ( 12:29 PM )
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Thursday Dec 10, 2009

Making the environment profitable

The way to get the environment to figure in the minds of society is to make it profitable. This is the important lesson I learned today in a meeting with Hackney council.

Hackney is a very young borough. Great, you may think: more vibrant...that's what I thought. Right but wrong.

Due to a massive migrant influx in the last ten years, 29% of Hackney's population is now under 19. That means almost 1/3 of Hackney's residents are in education, which needs funding. If this isn't adequately funded, young people have poor job prospects, which leads to unemployment, which leads to crime. In my borough, youth crime and worklessness are the key council spending priorities, due to Hackney's demographic.

It is hugely important that young people have a chance to make something of themselves, as joblessness in young adults can leave lasting scars and end up costing society, too. This really drove home to me how and why the environment can get sidelined.

But then I thought: this could be a great opportunity for the environment, too.

I felt frustrated that the government bailed out the car industry when they should have taken the brave step of investing in green technologies. Why not help the clean industry of the future, not the dirty ones which use too many resources and frankly haven't made much of an effort to move with the times. The new VW Beetle, for example, does the same miles per gallon as the original model, made in 1945. That's the car industry's progress for you.

What we should be doing is putting our money where our mouth is and saying: 'Goodbye old dirty industry, hello new greener, cleaner, happier way of living.' Kapow. And why shouldn't we? It's our planet, after all, and as far as I can judge, the self-interested big business of the past should have no part in that.

Why not use all those young people needing work to provide a workforce to get a new green scheme off the ground? We need to start our green economy now, if it's going to work.

I attended this meeting out of sheer speculative interest, after the council advertised for community representatives from the voluntary sector.

This was a training day on how to successfully lobby the council to forward the interest of community groups. When I look around Hackney, I see a lot of dirty streets clogged with dirty traffic, but that also means there's a lot of room for improvement. The environment here does need a voice. It's just a case of whether it can be made profitable on a community scale.

Hackney wasn't prepared for the sudden influx of a young population,. This caused a massive spending deficit which the borough is only just recovering from. If we can be prepared and use this demographic to our advantage somehow, we would be laughing.

Posted by Laura ( 4:46 PM )
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Thursday Nov 19, 2009

Pioneering and squishing apples

Groups of rosy-faced people tramping round up to their calves in apples in a giant wooden vat. A pastoral scene from the middle ages? No, my fantasy image of our local train station come Autumn next year.

OK, you can't press apples by foot, maybe I was thinking of grapes. Either way, I'm excited as we've just been given the go-ahead to use a large section of unused land down the side of my old train station to grow apple trees.

After weeks of arranging and rearranging, with everyone being too busy I finally met with Sarah, the station delivery manager for North London Lines. She's not only agreed to turn over a patch of land to us for the project, her company will pay for the trees! We're awaiting risk assessments and are making estimates on how much they will cost, and if all goes well we should be digging the place up by the end of December!

It turns out we're pioneers. Although the company has wanted to get involved in community projects for months we are their first success story. Already Sarah's telling us about other stations with even more space which need a similar group with some ideas. It's really exciting that other people may be encouraged to follow in our footsteps.

Anyway, having handed over the original greenhouses project to a more experienced group member it's nice to be barking up a different fruit tree, and having some success. After all these months of community involvement my life just wouldn't be the same without it.

I've mentioned the idea of planting fruit trees at rail stations as a good way of exposing people to theidea of producing their own food. I really want to keep nurturing this idea, to show people where our food comes from and that the environment we live in should be one that is healthy enough for us to grow the food we eat.

I can't wait to get down there with spades and gloves and actually plant some trees! Now we just have to think of what we can do with the apples once they're harvested. Obviously we want them to go back to the community, so apple pressing is a distinct possibility, then we would give out the juice to the neighbourhood.

I expect people are more likely to turn up with empty bottles than bare feet and rosy cheeks, though.

Posted by Laura ( 3:34 PM )
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Thursday Nov 12, 2009

Moi: Insulation Guru Extraordinaire

If there’s one thing I don’t know much about, it’s house insulation. However, I am a big fan of herbal teas (check out the ‘Herbal Tea Raaaaaaaaawks!’ group on facebook if you don’t believe me!) So, in the spirit of learning how to insulate your home in an environmentally friendly manner, whilst simultaneously getting closer to the farm’s stash of herbal tea, I agreed to help run the South Yorkshire Energy Centre’s weekend workshop.

This included showing visitors around the centre, encouraging them to interact with the attractions and dolling out handy hints on everything from sheep’s wool insulation, to digital clocks that run on water. First things first though, I had to learn about these things myself.

Although I’d photocopied every leaflet I could get my grubby little paws on in the SYEC offices, I hadn’t ventured onto the main stage, and so had to be given the full guided tour before I could make myself useful. First up, was an instrument of torture that, in a previous incarnation, had been an exercise bike, but now went by the moniker of ‘The Human Power Station.’ Mounted on the front of the rather fearsome-looking bike were bulbs, a radio and a kettle, all driven by the power generated by the bike’s wheels.

After much puffing, panting and crunching of mint crumbles for energy, I realised that managing to get the bulbs flickering and the radio crackling, was nothing compared to the aches and pains of getting a kettle to boil a cup of water. My twelve-cups-a-day habit suddenly made me feel very guilty indeed. Later, when I was showing excited tykes and adults around The Human Power Station, I made sure to stress the importance of only boiling as much water as you need. We already know this, of course, but nothing makes you appreciate the difference between the energy needed to boil one cup of water, and the energy needed to boil two, more than having to hop on an exercise bike and get that water a-bubbling yourself. Ouch.

Thankfully, not all the attractions caused minor muscle spasms. There was also a fan - which caused no muscle spasms, minor or otherwise - with a drawing of a cutesy cartoon cloud puckering its cloud lips around the air-vent, and a miniature turbine mounted on a pole with a bulb attached to the end. Holding the turbine up to the fan made the light flicker, thus demonstrating how wind power can be transformed into electricity. It was a fun and simple way to demonstrate renewable energy sources to the kiddies, and by the end of the day I had one little boy enthusing that he was going to ask his dad if they could have a wind turbine in their back garden. A job well done, me thinks!

But, it wasn’t all fun, games, pretend wind turbines and herbal teas of every colour. I shadowed the regular volunteer, eavesdropping on her conversations with visitors and gradually getting more involved in playing Energy Centre hostess. I learnt that the Energy Centre was originally a crumpet factory (a fact which sent one grandfather and his grandson into rapture but then, who doesn’t love crumpets?) The property had then briefly served as a house, before Heeley farm acquired it. In an effort to demonstrate environmentally-friendly building practices, the property had been kitted out with all the latest insulation gadgetry and glass panels had been fitted onto the walls, allowing a rare glimpse of insulation in action. I was also shown samples of all the different insulations, ranging from sheep’s wool, to scrunched-up paper.

By the time the fourth person dropped in for advice on how to keep their home toasty, while causing minimal damage to all the nice trees and the ozone layer, I was able to take them to one side, show them the samples, point them in the direction of the glass panels and give them some useful contact details - if not like a regular pro, then at least like someone who had a vague idea of what they were talking about. And, in a double-whammy of jaw-dropping professionalism, I was even able to point out that the rather snazzy-looking kitchen at the back of the Energy Centre, was actually made entirely from reclaimed wood.

As the day grew dark - at 3:30 in the afternoon, God bless winter - and I sent the last visitor off with a newfound appreciation for insulation, all that was left to do was tidy up, water the plants, switch off the visitors’ attractions (leaving attractions that demonstrate energy-saving techniques, running overnight would be a rookie error) and re-fill the environmentally-friendly clocks with water. The last one fascinated me. Water-powered clocks made me think of cast-iron pipes, water wheels, pumps and GCSE History lessons on the Industrial Revolution, but I was amazed (and a little disappointed, I must confess) to discover that the water-powered clock looked like any other digital clock. In the back, was a pill-sized capsule that had to be filled with approximately three drops of water. Who needs batteries, when you can power a clock on the stray drops that dribble out of your tap? Genius.

I know what I shall be getting friends and family for Christmas this year.

Posted by Jessica ( 7:00 PM )
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Wednesday Oct 28, 2009

Heading East and remembering my roots

It's been a while since my last post as I've been battling Swine Flu, taking belated summer holidays and moving house. London is a transient place, but when I told the people in my Transition Town I was moving East they all tried to pursuade me to stay!

In fact the last time I saw them I was on my way to meet my new housemates. Jo and I visited my potential growing project to try and think up a solution to the non-progress that was being made. It felt like a handover: we spoke with the woman who runs some courses there and Jo realised that if she went straight to the owners of the site it may be possible to organise something concrete. In retrospect it needed someone with her rational mind and experience and she got on to the housing trust straight away.

Afterwards we met up with a family from Texas who wanted to start a Transition Town in Houston. They are faced with a city literally divided by a big freeway, between the rich and poor sides of town. It seems almost impossible to set up communities there due to the urban sprawl where every trip is a car journey to the centre of town and little satellite shopping districts are virtually non-existent. This is a stark contrast to London where pockets of communities mean people can shop and live locally without relying on cars.

We sat in the park and discussed the challenges of this before I said goodbye. This ties quite nicely with our meeting tonight on local transport. I'm really looking forward to seeing my old community again, they really started to feel like a family! As an avid cyclist and being anti-car it's also an issue I'm really interested in.

In the meantime I have to think about finding a new local community. A woman I knew from another environmental group recently gave me a web link to an umbrella group called Hackney Environment Forum. I've been trawling the website, which has a wealth of events in my area, and I've already decided to continue my food growing passion and volunteer in a tree nursery and edible forest garden project. If you live in London and you're interested in the environment a really useful site, which lists all the environmental projects happening around the city, is http://greenmap.london21.org.

I personally can't wait to get stuck in to some planting again! 

Posted by Laura ( 5:06 PM )
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Friday Oct 23, 2009

Baked Apple Meringues With Orange-Soaked Raisins

Phew! Well, after a few weeks of being entertained by members of the general public and waxing lyrical over depressed peacocks, I can confirm the latter part of October is turning out to be party central down at Heeley City Farm, with events and talks planned left, right and upside-down. This can only mean one thing: preparation, which roughly translates as: everyone running around like ninnys.

I’d barely had time for my weekly whinge about the weather, before I was sent scooting down to the South Yorkshire Energy Centre, where they were midway through Energy Savings Week and also midway through a mini-crisis.

I was pointed in the direction of a formidable stack of promotional literature and industrial-sized envelopes, all emblazoned with the addresses of local schools. The following Saturday was ‘Family Fuel Busters Fun Day,’ where people could drop in and make such delightfully random things as pedal-powered smoothies, recycled jewellery and draft excluders that look like dragons.

After swiftly bundling up the promotional material, I then had the UK’s postal system to contend with. Were the big, brown envelopes classed as letters, large letters, or packages? And what weight category did they fit into? (Besides the obvious, ‘darn heavy.’) Thankfully, Heeley City Farm had weighing scales and a strange, cardboard construction. I had to play post-lady and pretend to mail the envelopes through this odd creation, in order to discern whether they could slip “freely” through your average letterbox. After much um-ing and ah-ing, myself and three other members of staff decided that we didn’t have the foggiest (although we all agreed the packets were “really heavy” and were probably going to cost “a lot” to post.) So, it being the kind of icy-bright winter’s day that I have a particular fondness for, I offered to nip up to the post office and have the packets weighed, measured and pretend-posted-through-a-fake-cardboard-letterbox by the Professionals.

Of course, as soon as word got out that I was heading to the post office, I found myself battling against an avalanche of letters that everyone else on the farm needed posting. So, I procured myself a plastic bag, filled it with the tonne-and-a-half of said letters and set off for the post office. After groaning, huffing, and eye-rolling my way down a queue of near-apocalyptic proportions, I was rewarded in the best possible fashion when the lady at the counter enquired whether I wanted a receipt. “Oh, yes,” I said, grinning (probably a little inappropriately, given the I’m-just-here-to-post-a-few-letters situation) at being able to sound like I had an Important Job “then I can put it on my expenses.” The lady at the counter looked decidedly unimpressed, and I vowed to start wearing more Professional clothes to my volunteering, just in case such an occasion arose again (or at least to replace the neon pink laces in my trainers, with conservative black ones - that’d fool those pesky postal workers, for sure!)

Upon hopping back to the South Yorkshire Energy Centre, it became clear that mailing out all those leaflets had left the reception room downstairs noticeably depleted of informative literature. A quick root around in the filing cabinet, and I located all the master copies, nipped down to the main office and churned out leaflets giving useful tips on how to cut down your energy consumption, whether in the kitchen, travelling to work, or fiddling around with the thermostat at home. Of course, with energy saving and recycling being the themes of the day, I am happy to report all the photocopies were on recycled paper, and some of the leaflets were even printed out half the size, so we could fit two on one page! Environmentally-savvy indeed (although, after cutting the 110th leaflet in half, even my fiercely-held save-the-trees ethos began to shake a little!)

And then, something truly terrible happened. It was approaching home time and I was becoming rather fixated on the thought of mushroom lasagne for tea, so I began chatting to one of the Energy Centre workers to make the time-until-lasagne go quicker. Apparently, she ran healthy eating workshops and was due to begin another cycle in a few weeks’ time. Each session was two hours long; the first hour was for preparation and cooking, and the second was when the group came together and ate their healthy, home-cooked meal as a whole. Since I was photocopying pretty much everything in the Energy Centre except the desks and the biro pens, I inquired whether she needed anything photocopying for her course, while I was on a photocopying roll. She did. Tragically, half an hour before lasagne-time, what she wanted photocopying were recipes.

Pudding recipes.

The recipes came complete with pictures of said puddings, and with scrummy titles, such as Baked Apple Meringues With Orange-Soaked Raisins; Wholemeal Apple And Blackberry Crumble; Baked Pears With Maple Nut Sauce; and Rhubarb Coffee Cake.

After twenty minutes of keeping my eyes firmly averted from pictures of Cherry Almond Scones and Banana-Spice Cookies, and a quick session of folding flat-pack ‘Heeley City Farm Events’ sheets into handy, take-away leaflets, it was time to head home. But not before nipping into the farm café and grabbing a slice of chocolate cake before I left, which possibly wasn’t the lesson I should have taken from photocopying all those ‘healthy, low-fat dessert’ recipes, but I’m going to attempt to make Baked Apple Meringues With Orange-Soaked Raisins at home this weekend. Just to balance out that chocolate cake, you understand…..

Posted by Jessica ( 6:50 PM )
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Monday Oct 12, 2009

Peacocks Do The Funniest Things

After my last blog turned into something of a 'Random-People-You-Meet-While-Walking-Around-A-Farm-With-A-Hammer Say The Darn-dest Things' I decided that the only logical course of action, was to do an animal-based instalment.

Now, I know it's hard to believe, but before I started volunteering at Heeley City Farm I had no idea what a hormonal peacock sounded like. During the mating season, peacocks flare out their beautiful, brightly-coloured tail feathers in a timeless, regal and elegant display - and then emit a sound somewhat like a bag-full of ill-tempered cats, only with added notes of strangulation, distressed infant, and honking goose.

For the past month, it seems I've never been more than ten metres away from the farm's resident peacock. And, it seems he's never kept his beak shut for longer than ten seconds. There was initially something comical about the sight of him honking furiously away with tail-feathers at full-mast, while his peahen lady friend went quietly about her business, completely oblivious to his display. However, his angry-feline-meets-car-horn tones quickly began to get on my wick.

Then, one day I arrived at the farm and couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was amiss. I clicked and tapped away at the office computers for a while; I shredded; I helped one of the teachers devise an educational, recycling-based board game for her afternoon class; and still I felt out of sorts. And then it dawned on me: it was too quiet. With a sinking feeling that life was about to become far too Hollywood Tearjerker Movie for my liking, I looked out of the window at the duck pond, where the peacock had spent many hours happily making a racket.

There was no peacock.

Before the wailing strings could start up in my head, I glanced to the left, and there were the peacock and peahen, in a brand spanking new enclosure directly next to the pond. After breathing a sigh of relief that life wasn't as melodramatic as the movies, I realised that the peacock's silence had a moping, teenage quality to it, and was instantly smarting with indignation. I'd have sold my Facebook account for a place of my own (as in, my own house, not my own cage) and there was that ungrateful bird, sulking, when he'd just had his own private cage handed to him on a plate! I fumed to my nearest member of staff (while stressing that it wasn't the cage I was jealous of, but what it represented) who then told me that I shouldn't be so harsh on the poor, throwing-a-strop peacock, because he was depressed.

Why? Well, the peacock was depressed because he was missing the ducks.

It turns out the ducks and the peacock had been involved in a dysfunctional friendship that had culminated in all five ducks leaping onto the peacock's back and hanging on while the peacock spun around, trying desperately to shake said ducks off. Naturally, my heart sank to have missed this spectacle. The peacock's insistent honking, in turns out, had not all been aimed at impressing his lady-love. It had been partially the result of increasing tensions between him and his flatmates. I felt slightly guilty for all those times I'd winced at the racket and shot him irritated looks. While living in halls at university, I'd made a fair old ruckus if someone used my milk, or didn't wash the frying pan properly - but at least my flatmates had never attacked me en mass, leaping onto my back and forcing me to spin around to try and shake them off, shedding fist-fulls of feathers in the process! Although, one did have a habit of using my cooking oil, which was equally annoying.

Thankfully, the farm's anti inter-species-bullying radar was far more acute than mine, and they'd removed the peacock and the peahen from the duck enclosure pretty sharpish. Apparently, problem solved - but, in life nothing is ever simple. Ever since, the peacock had been subdued, moping around and being uncharacteristically uncommunicative. The ducks too, had been acting out of sorts, and had taken to lying next to the new peacock enclosure, bills thrust through the bars and beady eyes turned mournfully towards their favourite frenemy.

While the moral of this story could be: 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone' or 'you can't live with some people, and you can't live without them,' it could equally be 'don't honk more than you absolutely have to, or else you may just end up being separated from the ducks you were honking at, only to discover you were enjoying the drama, and now you're stuck with the peahen, who's actually really boring.'

Thankfully, I can report that both birds have since settled into their new home. The ducks no longer spend hours standing sentinel and are back to splashing happily around, and the peacock has even started honking again. The peahen is still oblivious to everything the peacock does; and I'm back to having a peacock-induced headache. Good times.

Posted by Jessica ( 1:13 PM )
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Monday Sep 28, 2009

"Is That Sheep Called Horacio?"

The best thing about hands-on, in-person volunteering, for me at least, is that the people you encounter can make even the most mundane of tasks enjoyable. Today, I was charged with putting some signs around the farm, informing the general public of everything from fire procedure and emergency meeting points, to reminding them that the horses are on a strict no-bread diet, and that visitors Should Not Eat The Animal Food.

It was something of a buzz to be let loose on the farm with a toolbox. I certainly had an extra swagger in my step as I traversed the farm, swinging my hammer and imagining myself as a bona fide farmhand. Hammering notices onto the stable doors made me feel like a consummate professional, although hammering the same notices onto the walls of the small animal house, just made me feel guilty (although Hannah the tarantula took the racket in her stride.)

I quickly discovered that an unexpected side effect of walking around a farm with any sort of tool, is the illusion that you Know What You’re Doing. Within minutes, a group of youngsters approached me and asked if they could buy some goat food. Presumably, they didn’t mean off me directly. After a brief, just-opened-the-exam-paper panic, I realised I knew the answer to this question and pointed them in the direction of the farm shop.

But things only got more surreal. As I was minding my own business hammering a fire safety notice onto the stable doors, a child on the opposite side of the road shouted, suddenly and without any prior warning, “is that Elvis?” I did a double-take (after all, this is not a question you’re ever expected to be asked) and then realised he was pointing at the goat pen. I answered that yes, that’s Elvis over there, and mentally ticked off Number Seventy-Two on my ‘Sentences I Will Probably Never Say’ list.

And, just when I thought my interactions with the general public couldn’t possibly get anymore random, another young ‘un approached me, pointed at one of the sheep and asked, without a trace of irony and with perfect pronunciation “is that sheep called Horacio?” ‘I certainly hope so!’ I thought ‘because that’s the most awesome name for a sheep I’ve ever heard!’

After wandering around in the sunshine for a little while longer, hammering away (and, in all honesty, getting a little hammer-happy and ending up giving myself a headache) it was time to venture inside for some indoors signposting action. As per usual, I had no idea where I was going, but as per usual, help was on hand, and I was pointed in the right direction.

The right direction turned out to be another part of the farm I had yet to explore, which catered to the young adults who visit the farm on educational placements. The first room was the woodwork cabin, which took me straight back to technology classes at school, but the second room, nicknamed ‘The Green Cabin’ (because it’s green. And a cabin.) was like nothing I’d been fortunate enough to encounter at school. Every inch of the walls were covered in arty graffiti, in every colour imaginable. Even the fire door was painted. I was immediately distraught that I’d missed the painting process although, admiring some of the jaw-droppingly artistic graffiti, I realised it was probably a blessing. I’d have only embarrassed myself.

Despite growing rather attached to my hammer, the time had come to down tools and become just another member of the public, which was probably for the best - I don’t think anyone could have topped that child’s Horacio question!

Posted by Jessica ( 6:35 PM )
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Tuesday Sep 22, 2009

Arsenal's enchanted forest

I went to a local festival last weekend to help on our Transition Town stall. You have to be a local to find the place, tucked away in a tiny park behind Arsenal tube station. At least I thought it was a tiny park. I wandered through its gates to find a community centre full of brick-a-brac stalls, a few septuagenarians who were obviously running the show, and absolutely no-one else in sight.

I left again, disappointed, after someone asked if maybe I was in the wrong place. Back outside a scrambly path led into some woods with the kind of unkemptness you'd normally reserve for the middle of the countryside, and might not want to go into.

It was only when a woman in her forties hurried past brandishing a cake I realised I must be on the right track. "Where are you going?" I ventured. "To the festival," she said. This was becoming like a something from Rupert the Bear. With childlike glee I scurried off after her.

The sound of singing became gradually louder before a clearing appeared in the trees. A hundred or so people were congregated about stalls and a stage, complete with warbly folk music, and I stood in surprise for a while gazing at the intimidating pastoral before me, cake stand and all, in the heart of North London.

Morris dancing and dogs with bells on

It was all a bit much for a sleepy Saturday afternoon and with Jo nowhere in sight I was about to make my escape, when I noticed some more stalls along a woodland path behind me. As I walked that way I discovered some Morris dancers in full swing, with bells and leaps (and disconcerting grunts). I watched for a while, suddenly whisked back to my Somerset childhood, and chuckled at some children's reaction to the scene. It was really wonderful to watch, like looking back into Britain's ancient history. Later on I bumped into one of the dancers and his dog, fully kitted out with red braces and three little bells. "Ooh, is that a Morris dog?" I asked, rather excitedly.

Jo eventually emerged from the direction of the tea building and we talked about what we were going to do with the greenhouse project. Following the recent sticking point she offered to lend her expertise on funding, and we're going to meet the centre's staff on Thursday to see if we can collectively get something off the ground.

Tea and energy saving

While sipping the obligatory tea in the community building I met a man from the council's energy saving department. We chatted about how his work is portrayed by the local media while simultaneously laughing at the Morris dog which had been left tied to a door. What a surreal afternoon.

Pic: Martin our local "green vicar", Jo and me

I left feeling a bit more optimistic about the work ahead and like I'd discovered some secret and enchanted part of where I live. Not to mention a sense of how wonderfully quirky my community really is.

Posted by Laura ( 11:09 AM )
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Friday Sep 11, 2009

Slow and steady wins the fruit trees

Things can take forever with charities. Our arguably brilliant idea of using a local training centre to teach people to grow their own food has fallen on the backburner for the time being, if not fallen off the agenda altogether.

The horticultural centre, complete with lots of unused land and greenhouses – and one entirely unused polytunnel (basically a big plastic sheet stretched over a series of semi-circular frames) – is ideal for the job of teaching city dwellers some food-growing basics. Unfortunately the lottery funding application has ground to a halt, and may not be granted at all.

I realised when I had the initial conversations with the staff there how much I took my country upbringing for granted. I had grand images of rows upon rows of carefully-selected veg, each fruiting so something was edible at all times of the year. I forgot that so many people who live in high rise flats probably don't even know where half the food they eat comes from, let alone how you make a plant thrive. For now at least I have to leave this project to its own devices, and face the fact we may not get the funding we hoped for.

Still, I have other ideas up my sleeve. I contacted one of our other possible planting zones – the local London Overground station. It's actually one of my favourite potential projects as it was my idea and I'd love to see it work. There's so much unused outdoor space there, and big grassy, overgrown banks which would look really nice with some pear and apple trees on them. A few of London's stations have green-fingered staff who plant colourful hanging baskets, but many have only acres of bare concrete.

A station is a great place to engage people with food growing, though. Plus plants are protected from vandalism, hopefully. The station manager is really enthusiastic about the idea: he grows veg at home, and when I first visited him we sat down in his tiny portakabin office and he made me tea in a little plastic cup. I contacted his supervisor and she's really keen on the idea.  

The good thing about this contingency plan is that companies like TfL provide funds to support community projects such as this, and they like their staff to be involved too. It sounds almost too good to be true, but we'll see...

Posted by Laura ( 1:35 PM )
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Tuesday Sep 08, 2009

The Importance Of A Football-Neutral Colour Scheme

In my day-to-day shenanigans, it never ceases to amaze me how even the smallest task can magically expand (no need to add water) into a stonking great mission that ends up taking triple the amount of time you’d originally set aside. So, it was with a (slightly guilty) sense of satisfaction, that I discovered although a week had passed since my last visit, the classroom still needed a final coat of paint, and the glossing hadn’t even been started yet.

It seems it’s not just me then. Phew!

The walls had already received one slick of sparkly white emulsion, so I didn’t feel too nervous about putting paintbrush to wall, and applying an extra coat. After all, it was only white-on-white, even I couldn’t mess that one up!

Again, people dropped by on their way to and from the farm kitchen, and we’d soon amassed a gaggle of enthusiastic young helpers. I was merrily painting away, congratulating myself on learning a Useful Life Skill and imagining all the pennies I’d save by never having to hire a painter/decorator. Then I turned around and saw half the pot of paint had disappeared in the space of twenty minutes. Where it had disappeared to, turned out to be the wall where the younger of our painting posse had stationed themselves at the beginning of the session, and were now still enthusiastically painting away.

Now that the room was approximately five centimetres smaller than it had been twenty minutes ago, we decided it was high time we put a lid on the emulsion, and commenced glossing.

The gloss was a beautiful colour, somewhere between lilac and blue. I enthused about its calming, cooling qualities, and how such a tranquil shade would be conductive to learning - and then felt a little overly New-Age-ee when I was told it had been chosen because it wasn’t anything remotely like blue - Sheffield Wednesday - or red - Sheffield United. Still, we all agreed it was a pretty colour.

Now, dipping your brush into a football-neutral shade of lilac, and then carefully edging your way around the window frames and skirting boards, is far more nerve wracking than rubbing a white roller across an already-white wall. But, I took a deep breath and made my first stroke (across the metre-deep window sill, I’m not that brave!) and when no-one shrieked that I’d done it wrong, I’d ruined the whole thing, now the entire classroom was going to have to be redecorated/demolished, I felt a little more confident. Soon, I was painting the window ledge, the window frame, and even risking the sharp edges around the corners of the window. And no-one shouted at me that I’d ruined the entire thing and it all had to be started again. Not even once.

By four o’clock the painting was all but finished, and I could step back and observe our work with pride. True, the young guns probably would have preferred a more controversial, football-themed colour scheme, but the blue-tinged lilac borders and bright, clean white walls looked pretty snappy. And, while I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to redecorate my own house top-to-toe, I won’t think twice about picking up a paintbrush and freshening up plain walls with a quick lick of emulsion in the future.

And, as a completely unexpected bonus, I now own one pair of lilac-splattered trainers that make a great talking point down my local pub. “What’s that on your shoes?” “Oh, I was just painting this classroom at a farm the other day, you know, as you do…….”
 

Posted by Jessica ( 12:42 PM )
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Friday Sep 04, 2009

Guerrilla Gardening expedition

I'm on the far left.We rebuilt the bench we're sitting on as it was missing all it's wooden slats

Posted by Laura ( 2:56 PM )
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