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Environment and heritage blog

Conservation, history, green living and local self-sufficiency are the priorities for these volunteers.

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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