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we can’t do it all, all by ourselves, but luckily we needn’t kill ourselves trying. at the autumn equinox the farmhouse pantry and root cellar and freezer begin to pop with a great diversity of preserves, many by way of our local farms.

while over here we’re reckoning with an overwhelming abundance of pears on the tail of a mad crazy plum crop, we never do grow enough cucumbers. we’re happy to support a local regenerative farmer at the farmer’s market to fill our jars.

it’s the work of a moment to submerge cucumbers in brine with garlic from our garden, the neighbour’s dill and a leaf from the grapevine that hangs outside the kitchen door.

each autumn a no-dig farm in the valley brings us sacks of parsnips, carrots and beets to store damp in the root cellar. when the garden’s too frozen for pulling the roots below the mulch, we’ll nip down the root cellar steps and gather what we need for the cook pot.

we did rather well with our own potatoes and we grew enough garlic, but though we long to grow all the squash, all the greens, all the tomatoes, self-sufficiency isn’t actually the model we’re pursuing.

even when the olive trees are producing, the pecans, chestnuts and almond are old enough to crop, even if we get skilled at citrus-growing, this isn’t all or nothing. we’re part of a community that grows more resilient for the exchanges between us.

not everyone aspires to grow their own pickling cucumbers, but diversity within people and skills makes us more resilient too.

fermenting pickles in our own jars year on year makes me very content. it also makes us healthier and wealthier, often in ways that cannot be reduced to saving a dollar on the cheapest import. we know that buying local circulates benefits around the community, supporting villagers, sustaining family businesses, multiplying positive benefits as it goes. we’re stronger for the web of interconnections.

seeing how we rely on each other also just helps us get some perspective. we never could do it all, we never will, it’s okay. we can help to grow a partnership culture that bonds reciprocally with our community, echoing the greater living systems we’re embedded within.

appleturnover

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we can’t do it all, all by ourselves, but luckily we needn’t kill ourselves trying. at the autumn equinox the farmhouse pantry and root cellar and freezer begin to pop with a great diversity of preserves, many by way of our local farms.

while over here we’re reckoning with an overwhelming abundance of pears on the tail of a mad crazy plum crop, we never do grow enough cucumbers. we’re happy to support a local regenerative farmer at the farmer’s market to fill our jars.

it’s the work of a moment to submerge cucumbers in brine with garlic from our garden, the neighbour’s dill and a leaf from the grapevine that hangs outside the kitchen door.

each autumn a no-dig farm in the valley brings us sacks of parsnips, carrots and beets to store damp in the root cellar. when the garden’s too frozen for pulling the roots below the mulch, we’ll nip down the root cellar steps and gather what we need for the cook pot.

we did rather well with our own potatoes and we grew enough garlic, but though we long to grow all the squash, all the greens, all the tomatoes, self-sufficiency isn’t actually the model we’re pursuing.

even when the olive trees are producing, the pecans, chestnuts and almond are old enough to crop, even if we get skilled at citrus-growing, this isn’t all or nothing. we’re part of a community that grows more resilient for the exchanges between us.

not everyone aspires to grow their own pickling cucumbers, but diversity within people and skills makes us more resilient too.

fermenting pickles in our own jars year on year makes me very content. it also makes us healthier and wealthier, often in ways that cannot be reduced to saving a dollar on the cheapest import. we know that buying local circulates benefits around the community, supporting villagers, sustaining family businesses, multiplying positive benefits as it goes. we’re stronger for the web of interconnections.

seeing how we rely on each other also just helps us get some perspective. we never could do it all, we never will, it’s okay. we can help to grow a partnership culture that bonds reciprocally with our community, echoing the greater living systems we’re embedded within.

1 day ago

View on Instagram |

1/12

in a few years of learning to tend the earth as a partner, we’ll begin to see our efforts falling into place. the young asian pear illustrates it well.

in our first september, we take notice when its leaves turn black and drop to the ground.

in our second, we’re abashed to discover that more watering isn’t the solution, never mind that the chickens dig amongst its roots when we mulch and soak it. we love the fruit, though harvest is meagre and sorry without leaves.

in our third september, we’ve had the sense to terrace about it with rock to hold fruitwood mulch in, to water deeply, beginning to rotate a washtub to sit nearby so that ducks drink and splash, giving fertility to the earth with their attentions. we tip muddy water out, a soak, fertigation, and repeat some time later. the tree keeps most leaves but rests, fallow. that year pollination here was low.

in our fourth, the tree spends a year fenced with its neighbour to establish ground covers, pollinators like clover, a low comfrey, vervain. uphill, we make a mulch bed for greywater, flushing a water filter.

in our fifth and sixth the terrace keeps roots cool and mulched but some ground-covers fail to thrive. more terracing? shade plants? a plum cracks in a storm, breaking pear branches, but the heat dome is nothing to it.

chickens, ducks, geese gather to drink at the washtub at the foot of the tree. a lens of moisture sinks downhill from the mulch filter bed above. leaves are gloriously verdant, the harvest of pears so heavy we tie supports to the branches. fruit is uncommonly large, sweet, juicy, hardly a flaw amongst them.

harvesting before chartreuse gives way to butter yellow is nice, but we were picking too early. now they’re enormous! we dry them, grate into salad, slice for dips, tuck their adorably rotund selves on most plates, good company to so many.

and as we pick, we prune. new branches are promising. care is rewarded with beauty and abundance.

what if we design more systems to increasingly sustain themselves? to repeat living patterns in resilient systems, following their principles? it’s an ancient, appealing model.

find ‘pick & prune’ and all our films on appleturnover.tv.

appleturnover

•

Follow

in a few years of learning to tend the earth as a partner, we’ll begin to see our efforts falling into place. the young asian pear illustrates it well.

in our first september, we take notice when its leaves turn black and drop to the ground.

in our second, we’re abashed to discover that more watering isn’t the solution, never mind that the chickens dig amongst its roots when we mulch and soak it. we love the fruit, though harvest is meagre and sorry without leaves.

in our third september, we’ve had the sense to terrace about it with rock to hold fruitwood mulch in, to water deeply, beginning to rotate a washtub to sit nearby so that ducks drink and splash, giving fertility to the earth with their attentions. we tip muddy water out, a soak, fertigation, and repeat some time later. the tree keeps most leaves but rests, fallow. that year pollination here was low.

in our fourth, the tree spends a year fenced with its neighbour to establish ground covers, pollinators like clover, a low comfrey, vervain. uphill, we make a mulch bed for greywater, flushing a water filter.

in our fifth and sixth the terrace keeps roots cool and mulched but some ground-covers fail to thrive. more terracing? shade plants? a plum cracks in a storm, breaking pear branches, but the heat dome is nothing to it.

chickens, ducks, geese gather to drink at the washtub at the foot of the tree. a lens of moisture sinks downhill from the mulch filter bed above. leaves are gloriously verdant, the harvest of pears so heavy we tie supports to the branches. fruit is uncommonly large, sweet, juicy, hardly a flaw amongst them.

harvesting before chartreuse gives way to butter yellow is nice, but we were picking too early. now they’re enormous! we dry them, grate into salad, slice for dips, tuck their adorably rotund selves on most plates, good company to so many.

and as we pick, we prune. new branches are promising. care is rewarded with beauty and abundance.

what if we design more systems to increasingly sustain themselves? to repeat living patterns in resilient systems, following their principles? it’s an ancient, appealing model.

find ‘pick & prune’ and all our films on appleturnover.tv.

4 days ago

View on Instagram |

2/12

there are moments when all we can do is take care of ourselves. i had a relapse of the illness that knocked me down for the better part of winter and spring, and all the good intentions i might have had were put straight to bed for a while.

and yet. every choice we are free to make has an impact, and it feels pretty amazing to know that i could still lie there knitting socks that mean i needn’t buy a plastic-ridden pair.

that i could read diana beresford-kroeger’s brilliant work and oliver burkeman’s excellent and perspective-altering new book.

that i could learn so much from transformative @greendreamerpodcast interviews with the likes of @rianeeislercenter4partnership, tyson yunkporta, @drsuzannesimard, @charles_eisenstein and @robhopkins5085 , and from rob’s visionary ‘what if to what next’ podcast interviews, the latest a corker with @revengecapitalism. from down under, @futuresteading buoys me up.

while i needed to lean on support from friends in the community, we could reciprocate with boxes of grapes, apples, pears.

i was still able to take the herd for their foraging walk most days, the goats are rather delighted that i lie down in the grass and give extra cuddles, and everyone gathers near, ducks, geese, chickens and especially mama hen and her chicks.

i had enough energy one afternoon to sow lettuce for the winter and spring, and stick a few kale cuttings in the earth before the rain.

and i could still help my two young things set intentions for their days, their lives, and just listen.

also, the neglected grape juice intended for jelly, it fermented into wine and who can complain about that?

we can really do so much with what we’ve got. i feel better already.

i’m grateful to you and your inspiring stories of the small, impactful, compounding actions that you’re taking, right now. find them in appleturnover stories and i’ll collect them to keep. my new film series may be temporarily hampered by illness and frankly, an abundance of harvests demanding immediate attention, but such is life. we can only do what we can do. but what we do, it matters.

get on the mailing list, above, to hear when the journal of small work is out.

appleturnover

•

Follow

there are moments when all we can do is take care of ourselves. i had a relapse of the illness that knocked me down for the better part of winter and spring, and all the good intentions i might have had were put straight to bed for a while.

and yet. every choice we are free to make has an impact, and it feels pretty amazing to know that i could still lie there knitting socks that mean i needn’t buy a plastic-ridden pair.

that i could read diana beresford-kroeger’s brilliant work and oliver burkeman’s excellent and perspective-altering new book.

that i could learn so much from transformative @greendreamerpodcast interviews with the likes of @rianeeislercenter4partnership, tyson yunkporta, @drsuzannesimard, @charles_eisenstein and @robhopkins5085 , and from rob’s visionary ‘what if to what next’ podcast interviews, the latest a corker with @revengecapitalism. from down under, @futuresteading buoys me up.

while i needed to lean on support from friends in the community, we could reciprocate with boxes of grapes, apples, pears.

i was still able to take the herd for their foraging walk most days, the goats are rather delighted that i lie down in the grass and give extra cuddles, and everyone gathers near, ducks, geese, chickens and especially mama hen and her chicks.

i had enough energy one afternoon to sow lettuce for the winter and spring, and stick a few kale cuttings in the earth before the rain.

and i could still help my two young things set intentions for their days, their lives, and just listen.

also, the neglected grape juice intended for jelly, it fermented into wine and who can complain about that?

we can really do so much with what we’ve got. i feel better already.

i’m grateful to you and your inspiring stories of the small, impactful, compounding actions that you’re taking, right now. find them in appleturnover stories and i’ll collect them to keep. my new film series may be temporarily hampered by illness and frankly, an abundance of harvests demanding immediate attention, but such is life. we can only do what we can do. but what we do, it matters.

get on the mailing list, above, to hear when the journal of small work is out.

6 days ago

View on Instagram |

3/12

if i look too fixedly at the state of the world, i can hardly get out of bed. but there is no life lived at a world scale, is there?

as large as some characters in our culture appear, we are all living our everyday choices, embodied, and they compound very quickly. the dominant illusion of independence surely must not exist in traditional cultures, where relationships to community, culture, to plants and to other animals, to weather and season, to the soil, are quite vividly reciprocal. i love that that perspective contains the kernel of what gets me up in the morning.

it is this.

that all of our tiny choices matter, that even a small shift in culture can reverberate out to have massive ecological, economic effects.

i’ve been looking to traditional cultures for sound solutions for a while now, as we began to forage elderberries, stitch quilts, avoid waste, preserve rosehip cordial and wild damson jam in london,

as we learned to gather chestnuts and sloes, turn wood, throw pots, make cheese and bread in the sussex countryside,

as we built a henhouse, tended chickens, milked goats, planted food forests on vancouver island,

as we live it all here on salt spring.

local knowledge grows increasingly relevant. one can no longer dismiss ecological emergency. we can see it might be wise to prepare some skills and resources to provide for ourselves. that small, local, resilient community adaptations will contribute critically to sustaining us.

we might have thought that gathering berries in the hedgerows and nuts from a tree some wise elder once planted is the stuff of story books, history books. but those pleasing, everyday little acts add up to empower a community and alter our trajectory as a whole.

what do you know how to make, grow, forage, mend, put by, that your great-grandparents might have valued? what can you learn from your neighbour? what can you grow or make or source from a local producer that reduces reliance on tenuous industrial chains?

when i eat, when i dress, when i move, i am asking these questions of myself. i like the answers i’ve been gathering.

appleturnover

•

Follow

if i look too fixedly at the state of the world, i can hardly get out of bed. but there is no life lived at a world scale, is there?

as large as some characters in our culture appear, we are all living our everyday choices, embodied, and they compound very quickly. the dominant illusion of independence surely must not exist in traditional cultures, where relationships to community, culture, to plants and to other animals, to weather and season, to the soil, are quite vividly reciprocal. i love that that perspective contains the kernel of what gets me up in the morning.

it is this.

that all of our tiny choices matter, that even a small shift in culture can reverberate out to have massive ecological, economic effects.

i’ve been looking to traditional cultures for sound solutions for a while now, as we began to forage elderberries, stitch quilts, avoid waste, preserve rosehip cordial and wild damson jam in london,

as we learned to gather chestnuts and sloes, turn wood, throw pots, make cheese and bread in the sussex countryside,

as we built a henhouse, tended chickens, milked goats, planted food forests on vancouver island,

as we live it all here on salt spring.

local knowledge grows increasingly relevant. one can no longer dismiss ecological emergency. we can see it might be wise to prepare some skills and resources to provide for ourselves. that small, local, resilient community adaptations will contribute critically to sustaining us.

we might have thought that gathering berries in the hedgerows and nuts from a tree some wise elder once planted is the stuff of story books, history books. but those pleasing, everyday little acts add up to empower a community and alter our trajectory as a whole.

what do you know how to make, grow, forage, mend, put by, that your great-grandparents might have valued? what can you learn from your neighbour? what can you grow or make or source from a local producer that reduces reliance on tenuous industrial chains?

when i eat, when i dress, when i move, i am asking these questions of myself. i like the answers i’ve been gathering.

6 days ago

View on Instagram |

4/12

how shall we eat in an uncertain future?

as a sustainable food system, the tree crop is unmatched. in the last century-and-a-quarter, how many times over has this crab apple produced a couple of crates of fruit, i wonder. a fruit tree like this is only rivalled by a coppiced tree, like the hazels nearby, which can find pruning an elixir of immortality, living for centuries. perennial food, fuel, fibre.

compare this to the carrots i coddle and fuss over. in the right conditions, a carrot self-seeding is far more effective than my distracted nursing. most years, we call on local farmers for a bushel to store in the root cellar. sigh. yet our efforts at cultivation succeed occasionally. we’re learning. untilled beds deepen with compost from the animals, but it’s still labour intensive next to the trees.

the fruit-heavy side of food forests requires that on this tiny acreage we begin to strike a balance. we ferment wine, vinegar. nut harvests are rich, olives are growing, hardy citrus is just a baby. legumes set nitrogen and feed us. three potagers fill with veg, herbs, flowers; one is devoted to perennials. the goats give milk rich from diverse forage. they’re quite partial to crab apples, leafy prunings are even better.

just now a broody hen tends her family, foraging in the orchard. the heritage hens will lay rich eggs for years to come and raise their own chicks. the fellows live a long, happy life compared to their unfortunate commercial peers. only one or two can peacefully lead the flock, it would not do to keep them. we’ll gratefully, respectfully send the cockerels to the pot, an incomparable source of nutrition. ducks and geese in the orchards give rich eggs too, their conversion of grasses and windfalls is sustainability embodied. we’d not starve with them around. reciprocity with creatures steadies the system.

a balance of tending tree cultures, encouraging the generous reseeding of plants, some conscientious sowing, tending, propagation, foraging, animal care, composting, seed-saving and buying from local organic farms may be the beginning of a resilient agricultural model.

find our short films on simple living on appleturnover.tv.

appleturnover

•

Follow

how shall we eat in an uncertain future?

as a sustainable food system, the tree crop is unmatched. in the last century-and-a-quarter, how many times over has this crab apple produced a couple of crates of fruit, i wonder. a fruit tree like this is only rivalled by a coppiced tree, like the hazels nearby, which can find pruning an elixir of immortality, living for centuries. perennial food, fuel, fibre.

compare this to the carrots i coddle and fuss over. in the right conditions, a carrot self-seeding is far more effective than my distracted nursing. most years, we call on local farmers for a bushel to store in the root cellar. sigh. yet our efforts at cultivation succeed occasionally. we’re learning. untilled beds deepen with compost from the animals, but it’s still labour intensive next to the trees.

the fruit-heavy side of food forests requires that on this tiny acreage we begin to strike a balance. we ferment wine, vinegar. nut harvests are rich, olives are growing, hardy citrus is just a baby. legumes set nitrogen and feed us. three potagers fill with veg, herbs, flowers; one is devoted to perennials. the goats give milk rich from diverse forage. they’re quite partial to crab apples, leafy prunings are even better.

just now a broody hen tends her family, foraging in the orchard. the heritage hens will lay rich eggs for years to come and raise their own chicks. the fellows live a long, happy life compared to their unfortunate commercial peers. only one or two can peacefully lead the flock, it would not do to keep them. we’ll gratefully, respectfully send the cockerels to the pot, an incomparable source of nutrition. ducks and geese in the orchards give rich eggs too, their conversion of grasses and windfalls is sustainability embodied. we’d not starve with them around. reciprocity with creatures steadies the system.

a balance of tending tree cultures, encouraging the generous reseeding of plants, some conscientious sowing, tending, propagation, foraging, animal care, composting, seed-saving and buying from local organic farms may be the beginning of a resilient agricultural model.

find our short films on simple living on appleturnover.tv.

1 week ago

View on Instagram |

5/12

if you long to do things differently, it helps so much to find stories of those who are. a good twenty years ago, we encountered families that took learning into their own hands, stories of children whose first day of school was going off to college. all the usual ways of going about things, we can reinvent them where it feels right. today is our eldest’s first day, age 20.

it might be freeing to know that it’s just a placement test at the end of the line, over here. that everything one’s told one has to achieve or endure is not actually necessary. in the end, loving to learn, to read and to write and to converse, to experiment, to find out more, it is all that’s required to go in this direction. one of so many possibilities.

in a moment when so much of what we have been doing in this dominating culture has proven to be our own undoing, it feels good to find a path that sidesteps the narratives that say this is just how things are done.

we can do things differently. it just might be more joyful, more life-affirming, more connected, more restorative if we did.

if you have questions about learning through living, look for me in stories today or send me a note, and find our films about learning to live differently, linked above.

appleturnover

•

Follow

if you long to do things differently, it helps so much to find stories of those who are. a good twenty years ago, we encountered families that took learning into their own hands, stories of children whose first day of school was going off to college. all the usual ways of going about things, we can reinvent them where it feels right. today is our eldest’s first day, age 20.

it might be freeing to know that it’s just a placement test at the end of the line, over here. that everything one’s told one has to achieve or endure is not actually necessary. in the end, loving to learn, to read and to write and to converse, to experiment, to find out more, it is all that’s required to go in this direction. one of so many possibilities.

in a moment when so much of what we have been doing in this dominating culture has proven to be our own undoing, it feels good to find a path that sidesteps the narratives that say this is just how things are done.

we can do things differently. it just might be more joyful, more life-affirming, more connected, more restorative if we did.

if you have questions about learning through living, look for me in stories today or send me a note, and find our films about learning to live differently, linked above.

2 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

6/12

the wild thicket yielded so many plums this year, between harvesting and preserving them all we need a good nap. the elderberries, currants and gooseberries may have scorched in the heat dome, the parsnips and carrots barely took, but we’ve made up for it in greengages, mirabels, victorians, branch-cracking blue plums, japanese red plums and now a wild italian prune. what’s thriving in your harvest season?

appleturnover

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the wild thicket yielded so many plums this year, between harvesting and preserving them all we need a good nap. the elderberries, currants and gooseberries may have scorched in the heat dome, the parsnips and carrots barely took, but we’ve made up for it in greengages, mirabels, victorians, branch-cracking blue plums, japanese red plums and now a wild italian prune. what’s thriving in your harvest season?

2 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

7/12

the internet is my grandmother, teaching the old skills, like reviving sauerkraut fermentation in my family. i like a good handbook, cookbook, guide. english muffins were a revelation straight from dog-eared pages to our plates. i’m ever so fond of a workshop, retreating for a time, the camaraderie. it’s where i learned to bake sourdough bread.

but if we are to acquire the skills we need to face a crisis with equanimity, we need to pull together in our communities and get back to learning from each other in earnest.

we need all the skills we can get, those relegated to hobbies, those relinquished to corporations, and most especially those that form the cornerstones of the cultures that thrived in the places we live in. what grows here, as food, fibre, fuel? it is not just my own grandmother i would wish to ask. connection to indigenous people is a glaring omission which asks to be restored. we are lucky to live in a place that is beginning to tend to this, and in the before times my eldest took foraging walks and workshops with respected first nations teachers.

i may have consulted books and videos to restore the skill of wild fermentation, but the critical step is when it leads to greater community and political will. we can intentionally redouble those richly collaborative, casual exchanges that empower us rapidly.

knitting circles, gardening swaps, permaculture meet ups, emergency preparedness pods.

friends rolling up their sleeves to pick apples, make chutney, walk the goats, overnight guests who mind the english muffins on the wood stove, have a go at splitting kindling, help with chores, neighbours who share beekeeping or swap veg at the friendship gate.

learning at home yet immersed in the community is the very picture of our kids’ education, in fact. it is also a model for community resilience, adaptation, relocalisation. when we ask ourselves what we can do in the face of emergency, to me this is one answer. to share our skils, bring our abilities to the table, connect with each other over the work, together, in our neighbourhoods, villages, towns.

join the list to hear when my film series about household climate action like this, is out.

appleturnover

•

Follow

the internet is my grandmother, teaching the old skills, like reviving sauerkraut fermentation in my family. i like a good handbook, cookbook, guide. english muffins were a revelation straight from dog-eared pages to our plates. i’m ever so fond of a workshop, retreating for a time, the camaraderie. it’s where i learned to bake sourdough bread.

but if we are to acquire the skills we need to face a crisis with equanimity, we need to pull together in our communities and get back to learning from each other in earnest.

we need all the skills we can get, those relegated to hobbies, those relinquished to corporations, and most especially those that form the cornerstones of the cultures that thrived in the places we live in. what grows here, as food, fibre, fuel? it is not just my own grandmother i would wish to ask. connection to indigenous people is a glaring omission which asks to be restored. we are lucky to live in a place that is beginning to tend to this, and in the before times my eldest took foraging walks and workshops with respected first nations teachers.

i may have consulted books and videos to restore the skill of wild fermentation, but the critical step is when it leads to greater community and political will. we can intentionally redouble those richly collaborative, casual exchanges that empower us rapidly.

knitting circles, gardening swaps, permaculture meet ups, emergency preparedness pods.

friends rolling up their sleeves to pick apples, make chutney, walk the goats, overnight guests who mind the english muffins on the wood stove, have a go at splitting kindling, help with chores, neighbours who share beekeeping or swap veg at the friendship gate.

learning at home yet immersed in the community is the very picture of our kids’ education, in fact. it is also a model for community resilience, adaptation, relocalisation. when we ask ourselves what we can do in the face of emergency, to me this is one answer. to share our skils, bring our abilities to the table, connect with each other over the work, together, in our neighbourhoods, villages, towns.

join the list to hear when my film series about household climate action like this, is out.

2 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

8/12

becoming a generalist in the culture of the specialist is a growing revolution. in reskilling we discover both autonomy and connection. ecologically, economically, the era demands that we learn to make more of what we need, in our communities, with local materials, with our own hands.

once, a village might have taught us more than any school. with elders, mentors, by sharing work or just through living. in stepping away from schooling, in reinventing our children’s education and through that, our own, a natural pattern of learning-in-place, within the community, emerged. this is now an experimental act of self-education, of becoming autodidacts, lifelong learners.

learning to brew is one of those skills that i’m practicing, without expertise, with just enough knowledge cobbled from books, conversations, watching, learning wherever i can, in snippets of time i might find in our days. studies often draw directly from the land, as the trees provide such bounty there’s nothing to do but drop everything and pay attention.

in learning to brew we confront a series of challenges. this is a world where the corporation makes the cider, the beer, just as we play audience to the singer, the actor, customer to the clothing shop, the restaurant, the supermarket. follower to the leader.

what did people used to do, traditionally, before the industrial stepped in?

we change the world when we join in and brew, sing, write, sew, cook, grow, act.

in experimenting with flavours from what grows around us, we begin to arrive, to become grounded. to actually eat from our surroundings is a radical act of reconnection.

in reviving traditional skills in everyday life, we need only know enough to begin. we can start small. most skills are astonishingly basic, at the outset. one could become an expert, naturally. but what’s wanted now is sufficient self-reliance to make what’s needed, with a pleasing immediacy that simplifies how we live and our impact on the earth. pick, press, culture, ferment, all right here.

so we remake our world with our own hands. get on the list for our upcoming series of films, the journal of small work.

appleturnover

•

Follow

becoming a generalist in the culture of the specialist is a growing revolution. in reskilling we discover both autonomy and connection. ecologically, economically, the era demands that we learn to make more of what we need, in our communities, with local materials, with our own hands.

once, a village might have taught us more than any school. with elders, mentors, by sharing work or just through living. in stepping away from schooling, in reinventing our children’s education and through that, our own, a natural pattern of learning-in-place, within the community, emerged. this is now an experimental act of self-education, of becoming autodidacts, lifelong learners.

learning to brew is one of those skills that i’m practicing, without expertise, with just enough knowledge cobbled from books, conversations, watching, learning wherever i can, in snippets of time i might find in our days. studies often draw directly from the land, as the trees provide such bounty there’s nothing to do but drop everything and pay attention.

in learning to brew we confront a series of challenges. this is a world where the corporation makes the cider, the beer, just as we play audience to the singer, the actor, customer to the clothing shop, the restaurant, the supermarket. follower to the leader.

what did people used to do, traditionally, before the industrial stepped in?

we change the world when we join in and brew, sing, write, sew, cook, grow, act.

in experimenting with flavours from what grows around us, we begin to arrive, to become grounded. to actually eat from our surroundings is a radical act of reconnection.

in reviving traditional skills in everyday life, we need only know enough to begin. we can start small. most skills are astonishingly basic, at the outset. one could become an expert, naturally. but what’s wanted now is sufficient self-reliance to make what’s needed, with a pleasing immediacy that simplifies how we live and our impact on the earth. pick, press, culture, ferment, all right here.

so we remake our world with our own hands. get on the list for our upcoming series of films, the journal of small work.

3 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

9/12

this patch of earth within the patchwork of island farms and forests has given us an education.

these five years immersed in traditional (unceded) indigenous land turned-125 year old cider apple orchard-turned-homestead-turned-food forest, we’ve learned on the spot. we arrived in the thick of harvest season when the ripening of fruit is relentless. if ever a connection to the long history of cultivating the bountiful plants here on the islands in the salish sea were vivid it must be in relationship to the harvest. it is riveting, demanding devotion in the moment. when the plants are ready we are compelled to respond as surely as a parent to a child.

stepping into this moment, here, we become custodians. the plants in this garden are mostly introduced species, some quite comfortably, some obnoxiously opportunistic. we add back native species as we learn more. with helpers like goats and domestic flocks we knock back those plants that would take over. by drawing more of our diet from this corner of land, we reduce our impacts on all earth. so, it becomes our responsibility to learn how best to do that.

the trees provided an intensive education that first year. even now we come across a plant to identify, observe, and muster skills to meet it.

now, skills, tools, familiar recipes have begun to ease the intensity a little. we have a language and each year we grow more fluent. we know better which plants give crops fine for drying, storing, which for sauces, butters, oils, jams or jellies. we acquire the skills to turn harvests into wine and then culture vinegar, or to combine an acid with a sweet to easily render it stable in a sterile sealed jar. wild fermentations and solar drying make life easier.

now we add plants to support the system with greater diversity, pollination, later harvests, mulch plants, fodder or fibre plants, mineral tappers, medicinals. to reduce our imports, annual crops and self-seeders tuck into a perennial system that demands less compost, water, or work.

late august may be mad crazy, but each year we grow more sane, in tune with living systems.

‘farmhouse pantry’ film is coming. get on the list.

appleturnover

•

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this patch of earth within the patchwork of island farms and forests has given us an education.

these five years immersed in traditional (unceded) indigenous land turned-125 year old cider apple orchard-turned-homestead-turned-food forest, we’ve learned on the spot. we arrived in the thick of harvest season when the ripening of fruit is relentless. if ever a connection to the long history of cultivating the bountiful plants here on the islands in the salish sea were vivid it must be in relationship to the harvest. it is riveting, demanding devotion in the moment. when the plants are ready we are compelled to respond as surely as a parent to a child.

stepping into this moment, here, we become custodians. the plants in this garden are mostly introduced species, some quite comfortably, some obnoxiously opportunistic. we add back native species as we learn more. with helpers like goats and domestic flocks we knock back those plants that would take over. by drawing more of our diet from this corner of land, we reduce our impacts on all earth. so, it becomes our responsibility to learn how best to do that.

the trees provided an intensive education that first year. even now we come across a plant to identify, observe, and muster skills to meet it.

now, skills, tools, familiar recipes have begun to ease the intensity a little. we have a language and each year we grow more fluent. we know better which plants give crops fine for drying, storing, which for sauces, butters, oils, jams or jellies. we acquire the skills to turn harvests into wine and then culture vinegar, or to combine an acid with a sweet to easily render it stable in a sterile sealed jar. wild fermentations and solar drying make life easier.

now we add plants to support the system with greater diversity, pollination, later harvests, mulch plants, fodder or fibre plants, mineral tappers, medicinals. to reduce our imports, annual crops and self-seeders tuck into a perennial system that demands less compost, water, or work.

late august may be mad crazy, but each year we grow more sane, in tune with living systems.

‘farmhouse pantry’ film is coming. get on the list.

3 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

10/12

if people have been growing and preserving food at home with their own hands, in one form or another, up until the heights of the industrial revolution, taking it up again by the tens of millions during wartime, reviving it whenever crisis calls as it surely is, today, then what do we call the period of time when homemade preserves were not on the table?

it seems to me a great indicator that we possess both collective wisdom and an ancient heritage of getting the critical things done with our own hands. when we turn from the ways of living that fossil-fueled industry and a paradigm of separateness and dominance have perpetuated for this brief, brutal period, we are stepping back into rhythm with the way things can be when our priorities are well in order. then one thing leads to another in a positive, life-giving cycle.

for us that looks like tending to trees, soil, water, the wilder ecologies. an increasing recognition of being embedded deeply within seasons and an inextricably supportive web of interconnection.

i quite like that a pot of homemade preserves, set in a row on the shelf, is a vivid, physical expression of living in harmony with the planet.

i’m working on a new series of films about what it might look like to take action on ecological emergency into our own hands. get on the appleturnover mailing list, above, to hear more about the journal of small work.

appleturnover

•

Follow

if people have been growing and preserving food at home with their own hands, in one form or another, up until the heights of the industrial revolution, taking it up again by the tens of millions during wartime, reviving it whenever crisis calls as it surely is, today, then what do we call the period of time when homemade preserves were not on the table?

it seems to me a great indicator that we possess both collective wisdom and an ancient heritage of getting the critical things done with our own hands. when we turn from the ways of living that fossil-fueled industry and a paradigm of separateness and dominance have perpetuated for this brief, brutal period, we are stepping back into rhythm with the way things can be when our priorities are well in order. then one thing leads to another in a positive, life-giving cycle.

for us that looks like tending to trees, soil, water, the wilder ecologies. an increasing recognition of being embedded deeply within seasons and an inextricably supportive web of interconnection.

i quite like that a pot of homemade preserves, set in a row on the shelf, is a vivid, physical expression of living in harmony with the planet.

i’m working on a new series of films about what it might look like to take action on ecological emergency into our own hands. get on the appleturnover mailing list, above, to hear more about the journal of small work.

3 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

11/12

we don’t have to do this alone. i need a daily reminder, as i grew out of the culture of independence. the ducks and chickens assure me that we are interdependent by nature. that joy and energy multiply when we collaborate.

that’s a relief, seeing as there’s tremendous work to be done if we are to transform how we live in this decade of critical creative response to ecological emergency.

so, in the kitchen garden, we didn’t tire ourselves out digging, but merely laid down compost from the chicken run, old hay, cardboard and drop-cloths for a winter. earthworms and their micro-communities simply adore a cover. they transformed weeds, sod and all to rich soil.

we simply tossed down seed potatoes over that soil, then mulched with straw that our gardening group brought in from an organic local farm. one family’s truck did the work for all. folks picked it up from a central farm. being car-less, we organised further: friends brought bales to our gate and we gave preserves, plants as a thank you. sharing economies make us more resilient.

when a young friend isn’t studying music he loves to work outside with our young people, lively conversation make labouring hours fly. they dig compost from the run, wood chips for the paths, and i rest more, as i recover from a tough year. i must do less, but others want to do more, learn together. creating a tiny job is a gentle economy.

now we’ve pulled potatoes from their sleep below the bedding, what a crop. the sun does the task of drying them. carrying them up to the pantry in a burlap sack is their idea of food miles.

then we invite hen and chicks to dig the bed over, plucking out bugs, loosening soil. ducks root round the cabbages, which is a win-win for everyone, unless you’re a slug. we all have our talents.

young friends, enthusiastic about cover crops, gave us buckwheat to sow a living mulch with peas and grain. the roots will nurture soil life til we plant garlic come autumn.

today it may rain after the hottest, driest summer of all. rainclouds are a kind ally. while raindrops do their good work, i’ll take a nap.

i’m making a series of films about tiny, impactful climate actions. join the list for more.

appleturnover

•

Follow

we don’t have to do this alone. i need a daily reminder, as i grew out of the culture of independence. the ducks and chickens assure me that we are interdependent by nature. that joy and energy multiply when we collaborate.

that’s a relief, seeing as there’s tremendous work to be done if we are to transform how we live in this decade of critical creative response to ecological emergency.

so, in the kitchen garden, we didn’t tire ourselves out digging, but merely laid down compost from the chicken run, old hay, cardboard and drop-cloths for a winter. earthworms and their micro-communities simply adore a cover. they transformed weeds, sod and all to rich soil.

we simply tossed down seed potatoes over that soil, then mulched with straw that our gardening group brought in from an organic local farm. one family’s truck did the work for all. folks picked it up from a central farm. being car-less, we organised further: friends brought bales to our gate and we gave preserves, plants as a thank you. sharing economies make us more resilient.

when a young friend isn’t studying music he loves to work outside with our young people, lively conversation make labouring hours fly. they dig compost from the run, wood chips for the paths, and i rest more, as i recover from a tough year. i must do less, but others want to do more, learn together. creating a tiny job is a gentle economy.

now we’ve pulled potatoes from their sleep below the bedding, what a crop. the sun does the task of drying them. carrying them up to the pantry in a burlap sack is their idea of food miles.

then we invite hen and chicks to dig the bed over, plucking out bugs, loosening soil. ducks root round the cabbages, which is a win-win for everyone, unless you’re a slug. we all have our talents.

young friends, enthusiastic about cover crops, gave us buckwheat to sow a living mulch with peas and grain. the roots will nurture soil life til we plant garlic come autumn.

today it may rain after the hottest, driest summer of all. rainclouds are a kind ally. while raindrops do their good work, i’ll take a nap.

i’m making a series of films about tiny, impactful climate actions. join the list for more.

3 weeks ago

View on Instagram |

12/12