Purposeful Permaculture

My garden vision: a resilient, beautiful sanctuary for creative work and deep connection 

So I'm a student again which I've always enjoyed, not just learning new things, (which I do all the time as a compulsive autodidact), but also Being a Student: the structure of learning alongside others, engaging with tutors and completing assignments.

For the Permaculture Design Certificate we have to develop, and present a design project of our own choice.  I mulled a variety of enticing options for permaculture art and/or community projects but have settled on a permaculture design for the property where I live now. The first assignment is to develop a project brief  which means I've been thinking hard about what I want from the garden.

My primary purpose for this garden design is resilience, both for the ecosystem and for me personally.   I live in a rental, albeit fairly secure, so I may not be here to enjoy this garden in its maturity. My landlords are enthusiastic about my vision for their property so I have the freedom to put in place a long range vision.

I'm gardening as though I will live here for decades, yet know that I probably will not.  I'm investing the effort despite the risk because practicing this kind of gardening gives me experience and skills that will make any future garden that much easier to establish.  And better to make my inevitable mistakes here and now, while my well-being is not dependent on the results, than in circumstances where the consequences could be more serious.

A polyculture of tomatoes, rainbow chard, celery, mint, sweetpeas, sunflowers and cucumber, leeks, radishes and lettuce 

Climate change is well underway, and every month I read another report where some expert says that even recent projections were too conservative.  The most noticeable effects seems to hit particular places in pulses: big storms, big fires, big floods. One of several reasons I chose to live in Hamilton, New Zealand  is because its relatively safe from earthquakes, tsunamis, forest fires, hurricanes etc. They reckon the most likely natural disaster to affect us would be ash from a major volcanic eruption a few hundred kilometers away.

Meanwhile like frogs in a kettle, we get used to the gradually hotter and drier summers and rainier winters, but Hamilton doesn't really do extremes of temperature. So developing a resilient garden here means one that can survive summer drought and and constant winter rains, as well as human neglect (and possibly a blanket of volcanic ash some time).

Herbs and flowers to attract beneficial insects

Peak oil has probably passed in the last year or two and now we are setting off into an unstable decline of our fossil-fuelled culture. It seems extraordinary to me that most people continue to behave as though they think nothing will change, except more-better-faster technology.  The immanent food shortages, or rather food distribution failures, that are anticipated for swathes of the global population will probably manifest here in New Zealand only as higher prices at least for the next few years. I don't foresee food riots and famines for us, but last week a neighbour came to my door twice asking for help because she can't feed her family.  People are going hungry in my part of the world.

So, I'd like my garden to nourish me in every season, from year to year. I'd like to be able to share homegrown food with my neighbours in need and friends in fellowship. I'd rather spend money on food as treats than as staples of my diet.  In an emergency involving food shortages I want to be able to feed myself and others well enough not only to survive, but to allow us to respond usefully and creatively to the crisis.

Although establishing a resilient and productive permaculture garden will require a lot of effort and resources at first, my intention is that within a few years it will require minimal effort and external inputs to maintain.  Permaculture is attractive because it offers the possibility of a self-sustaining complex system that can survive almost anything.

Drying heirloom borlotto beans  for winter protein and for growing more next year

Rocket Stove: Two

Rocket Stove II made with an enameled tin bucket and some cans (see the scorch marks where the tape caught on fire)

My friend Chris Fairly made another rocket stove, this time trialling a quick and inexpensive design. He brought it round for me to test and I retaliated with an invitation for him and his partner, Anna, to come over for a dinner made on it.  I've been complaining that a limitation of the first, beautiful ceramic rocket stove he made is only being able to cook one pan at a time, so this seemed an ideal opportunity for some two burner action, using both the original Rocket Stove and RS:Mark II.  Having a couple of extra pairs of hands to help with feeding two fires was a useful bonus.

Rocket Stove I is the tiled cylinder in the centre background, Rocket Stove II is the smaller and lower bucket to the right.

Even with help keeping the stoves stoked and getting the food prepped it was still a very intense and all-consuming meal to prepare and I completely forgot to stop and take some photos of the stoves in action. The big original stove cooked a sort of saag paneer made with silverbeet. The new small stove cooked aromatic rice with ginger, cardamon and cinnamon. Both turned out delicious, if not food-blog-beautiful. Both dishes required manipulating the temperature from a speedy sizzle to a steady simmer.

Looking down into the tin can rocket stove

The new rocket stove is not my favourite. For one thing it smelled yucky, not just woodsmoke but a metallic smell with a hint of burning plastic (probably from the pretty blue paint).  Worse, at one point the aluminium tape holding it together caught on fire and flames licked up the outside of the bucket in a worrisome way until I beat it out with a stick.  Its only superior feature is the feeder tube which is bigger and longer than on the original  but I'm afraid that isn't going to be sufficient incentive to get me cooking on it again.  

I think both Chris and I learned a lot from cooking together on the two stoves at once.  My practical experience has been informed by theory and I will be tweaking my approach and hacking a brick stick propper-upper for the ceramic rocket stove.  Chris got to see the demands of complicated cooking first hand and proved at dab hand at controlling their temperatures at my request.  He also witnessed the value of the taller chimney for more efficient heating and I'm sure will be more circumspect with aluminium tape in the future.

Delicious dinner of home and local grown produce cooked outdoors on free fuel

As always, I had (almost) all my ingredients prepared before lighting the fires.  Rocket stove cooking is not very spontaneous.  I'd also prepared lots of little 'go-withs': a Thai cucumber chutney, a carrot coconut lentil-sprout, sesame oil and raspberry-vinegar salad, my favourite watermelon-feta-avocado-red onion salad, and aubergine mashed with yoghurt and lemon. I also cracked open the first jar of plum chutney from  my New Year's preserving marathon and put out home made sprouts, microgreens (Fiji Feathers pea shoots) and soaked/toasted pumpkin seeds to garnish.  For dessert we had apple and homegrown-blackberry almond crumble with two kinds of homemade ice cream (vanilla and double chocolate).

Chris and I are going to be demonstrating rocket stove making and using at On the Road to Resilience on 24 February at the Sustainable Backyard at the Hamilton Gardens' Summer Festival. This going to be a fantastic day touching on bee keeping, wind turbines, composting toilets, time banking, earth oven and solar cooking, and demonstrations of pruning and scything. Something for everyone! Come along if you can.

Handmade wedding

Bethwyn and Steven just married 

When my dear friend and 'Frugal with the Bruegel' collaborator, Bethwyn, got married last weekend to her sweetheart Steven, it was a completely unpretentious affair. Not small, not plain, but a charming expression of her creativity and that of her many creative friends.  Some of my own contributions surprised me- many of the things I've made and given to Bethwyn since we became friends featured in the wedding, giving me a little frisson of pleasure every time I noticed another one.

Handmade paper garland

My wedding gift to the couple was a book I made a few years ago for the poem I wrote called Do the Dishes.I loaned my bunting which hung alongside the bunting shared by at least two other friends. The many metres of handmade bunting (each maker's character making the different strands distinctive)  first decorated the trees shading the ceremony, then appeared again at the hall for the reception.

Handmade lace garter

My two main (intentional) contributions to the wedding were worn by Bethwyn.  I spent many months crocheting the lace for a garter, then stitched it onto a vintage velvet ribbon. The lace pattern is one I invented called Denniston Lace after a white frothy plant I admired on my visit to Denniston Plateau last year. Making lace is really hard on my eyes and this garter may sadly be the last lace I make. I love to do it, I love the idea of it, but I'm not willing to sacrifice such an essential sense for it!

Bethwyn trying on the garter on the morning of the wedding, with freshly henna'd hands

As it comes off the hook, the lace is naturally scrunched up on itself and doesn't look much until it is starched and blocked.  I worked though a few iterations to get the starch right for wearing against skin.

Blocking Denniston Lace

My go-to home made starch recipe is designed to stiffen hand made lace for exhibition   The garter would have been as scratchy as bark to wear and I wanted the barefoot bride to feel completely comfortable in it.  It spent most of the wedding day hidden beneath her long dress, but every chance I got I made her lift her skirts to show me again!

Show me that garter again please

She also wore a garland in her hair, made by us together in our altered book collaboration.  I suggested using cut up books when she said she wasn't going to wear a veil and didn't want fresh flowers either.  Bethwyn kept saying she couldn't visualise how my proposal would turn out, but she trusted me enough to spend about 5 hours two weeks before the wedding working with me to make it.   She was so relieved when it turned out well. I wasn't completely sure how it would work but I also trusted my skills and imagination to try something new.

Planning the layout of the cutouts

Together we cut out images of leaves, flowers, birds and insects from two copies of An Edwardian Lady's Country Diary and attached them to florist wire to make a wreath.  A few coats of sealant made a very resiliant headpiece which complimented Bethwyn's cream and brown gown perfectly.

Half finished garland

I was just one of many friends and family  members with whom Bethwyn shared the pleasure of making the wedding.  So many weddings seem to be bland displays for which a couple starts their life together deeply in debt.  This one was a celebration of community and creativity as well as Bethwyn and Steven's love and committment to eachother.

The garland in action

Spill Open

 Installing at The Framing Workshop was delightful because Sarah Marsdon is super efficient and super nice. She is also a perfectionist and made sure the work looked exquisite on the newly painted gallery walls.  I really liked the hanging system she used for the big piece, which cast shadows like a suspension bridge radiating out from the top of Just a Little Spill.

The opening itself was so well attended, so busy and delightful that I didn't have a chance to take any photos until most people had already left. Here are my two good friends, Stephanie and Bethwyn who came early and stayed late, bless them. My home grown, home made food was a big hit and there were just enough leftovers to reassure me that I hadn't under-catered, but not so much that it was wasteful.

The opening was supposed to finish at seven, but people kept arriving (some from the Yanni Split fashion show finishing at the same time at the Museum across town).  And just as I was leaving, a red dot went on by Seep I, a sight that will warm any artist's heart.

The exhibition is on until 21 February. If you are in Hamilton, stop by The Framing Workshop at 120 Silverdale Road and check it out (most pieces are visible through the window if you can only go after-hours).

Catering my exhibition opening

Tomorrow 'Just a Little Spill' will open at The Framing Workshop in Hamilton.  The work is long finished, packed and ready to hang. The event invitation on Facebook has a strong response and I've had a couple of local papers show interest.  See Hamilton Press page 11 for my photo and interview.

Just a Little Spill with flowers

For this opening I decided to make some special food using up my garden produce as much as possible.  The menu has become a little OTT so I really hope lots of people come along, and come hungry!

Just one corner of one bed of leafy greens

It started simply enough with my favourite recipe to use up the abundance of silverbeet/spinach/kale/collard and herbs in my garden: feta filo parcels.

Then, when one of my courgettes hid under the leaves and turned into a marrow I made muffins to top with cream cheese icing.  After my New Year's jam making marathon I wanted to use up the storebought jam cluttering up my fridge so jam tarts are the other sweet on the menu.

It turns out that the frozen bowl of an icecream maker is perfect for making pastry in.

When I was given some organic homekill beef I added meatballs with my homemade plum sauce, and roast beef rolled around fresh garden vegetables, including some of my glut of gorgeous green beans

So many beans! Help me eat them!

But what about my vegan friends? Felafel (the only  non-homemade item on the table) and hummus with sourdough flatbreads joined the menu. And just because I love it (and for other dairy eaters) tzatziki with home made yoghurt as well.

The idea was that cooking my produce would be cheaper than buying cheese and crackers, or a platter of sushi to go with the wine.  This way might not have worked out much cheaper in the end, but it will be probably be yummier. If you want to sample some of my home grown, home cooked food (and see some of my textile art) come along to The Framing Workshop, 120 Silverdale Road, Hamilton between 5.30-7.00.

I always had trouble growing sunflowers before, but check out these beauties towering over me.

Eight years and renewed commitment

New growth

Most years around the anniversary of my very first blog post here on 12 January 2005, I write a sort of meta-post, where I contemplate 'the why of the blog'. This time last year I predicted a steady course of more-of-the-same: making and exhibiting beautiful art in response to ugly environmental issues. The first half of the year was indeed a great surge forward along that chosen path, with successful exhibitions and two awards.  But my life, my art practice and consequently my blogging were all turned upside down in the middle of 2012 by a wonderful opportunity to move to a new home.

 Pulling up roots

When my Hong Kong-based friends offered me affordable rent on their Hamilton house I was still squished into a nearby tiny studio flat. My possessions spilled over into a storage unit, my urge to grow green things was confined to jars of sprouts, and the Big Art I was making was way over-sized for the space, so my practice was awkward at best.  I accepted their offer and at the start of spring graduated to a whole house with a large studio, a proper kitchen and an even larger garden.

One corner of my spacious studio (the white wrapped roll in background is Just a Little Spill, soon to be unfurled for exhibition at The Framing Workshop

I had no idea, before I moved, that my nascent desire to grow a few vegetables would become such a great passion once I got my hands into the soil. After a few art-world disappointments (and the emotional drain of making tragic mines and oil spills) coincided with moving, I gave myself a six months break from major art projects in order to establish the new garden.

For the past five months I've devoted almost all the time, creativity, research and steady slog to gardening that I would usually have put into making art. During this period, gardening was completely and utterly sufficient for my soul. When people asked 'what do you do', I didn't want to talk about my art, I wanted to talk about my garden. The blog was neglected: I was usually outside with dirty hands, and when I was near my computer all I wanted to do was share the wonder of growing plants, yet didn't feel ready to explain the new direction of my passion.

As is my wont with any new interest, I read and learn as much as I can at the same time as diving right into the doing.  I've been soaking up gardening magazines and gardening blogs of all types, but nothing makes more sense to me than permaculture.  It aligns with my environmental and political concerns, while directing my (possibly unhealthy) obsession with climate change/pollution/extinction  into pragmatic, joyful solutions. Solutions that are not just for designing landscapes and growing food, but for all aspects of society.

Home grown food

Learning more about permaculture and beginning to integrate its principles into my life is simultaneously intellectually stimulating, aesthetically pleasing and sensually satisfying. I find myself wanting to apply permaculture ideas to my art practice and express its life-enhancing, hopeful positivity through my art work.  I am not sure yet how that will  happen or what the results will look like.  I expect this blog will be one of the places I figure that out.

Over my eight years of blogging, the content and tone of Bibliophilia have shifted along with my priorities and preoccupations.  I've often felt disinclined to share much about what is on my mind for fear of appearing inconsistent or exposing myself to criticism.  If you look at the archive list in the right hand column  you will see the frequency of my posts has declined markedly over the eight years: a bit like the statistics for Arctic summer sea ice. Just like the Arctic, 2012 marked a record low for my posting frequency.

I hope that both my blogging and the Arctic summer sea ice will increase in 2013. I have the ability to ensure one of those hopes is fulfilled. In doing so I intend to document my part in the world-wide, grass-roots social and economic transformation project which is required to slow global warming enough for, not only polar bears to survive, but also all life as we know it.

I fear, however, that the recent nadir of sea ice is a signal that a tipping point has passed and that accelerated climate change is ramping up and out beyond its initial anthropogenic impetous, let alone the least conservative scientific predictions of a few years ago.  It may be that even if governments and big business were to suddenly change their venal ways and start doing what was required five, ten, thirty years ago to slow down this train, even then the train wouldn't slow down in my lifetime.

Another delicious home grown meal cooked on the rocket stove-  zero food miles and renewable energy

Yet, if my particular perspective on global issues and local solutions can contribute any tiny bit to slowing down humanity's headlong dive into disaster, then I feel I must not indulge in feeling shy about my risk-taking mistakes, my unconventional choices, my wildest dreams or my imperfections. In this week when the Australian meteorological service had to extend their temperature scale to describe the dome of heat burning up that beautiful country, I begin my ninth year of blogging with renewed commitment.

Spill Sketches

Looking back through my journal I came across my sketches and notes made  in the days and weeks following the Rena oil Spill in October 2011.    Since the result, Just a Little Spill, is finally going to be seen in public for the first time later this month I thought it might be interesting to share these early ideas now.

Words are as important as visuals for me when I am conceptualising a new piece.  I'll often have a working title before I have anything else, in this case Folly and Hubris. The working sub-title won out in the end though.  I didn't end up pursuing representations of birds either.  

Exploring the ways oil can spread out on waves of water.

Nitty-gritty details of stitching, felting and size.

Photocopied from a book of Japanese prints about 25 years ago, and carried around in my pile of important papers until 2011 when it finally found a place in my journal among the Spill sketches.

Stitching doodle

Huffington Post

Check out this interview with me on Huffington Post

Just a Little Spill at The Framing Workshop

Sticky

Family portrait, New Years Eve 2012

I started 2013 with 20 jars of new preserves made over the previous few days. In these uncertain times there is a sense of security having all that summery goodness put away for the cold months ahead. It's been about seven years since I've done any serious preserving and I'd been looking forward (somewhat nervously) to making the most of my first summer in a proper kitchen.  I bought a box of preserving jars at the Raglan Recycling Centre for a dollar and then spent many more dollars on seals and rings, and even a special jam funnel, which was a very good investment.  Oh, and then I was given an ice cream maker.

Picking my parent's plum tree. 

I kick started the harvest by introducing myself to my neighbour and asking if I could pick her plums which I have been watching ripen, attended only by birds.  They were small, yellow-fleshed and all but tasteless when raw. Five kilograms of fruit cooked up into delicious chutney, even more delicious jelly (flavoured with root ginger, orange zest and cinnamon stick) and roasted plum and vanilla sorbet.  I admired my first six jars with a glow of satisfaction.

A rolling boil on a hot day

That very evening my mother announced that their tree was ripe for picking Right Now!  I rushed around the next morning and picked a bucket and a half of purple-red plums that are delicious to eat and tart to cook.  I bottled seven large jars of the best plums (without bird pecks) whole, each with a different flavour (bay, cinnamon, cloves, vanilla, star anise etc.  With the damaged plums I made a frozen yoghurt and then roasted the rest with a jar of too sweet quince syrup mum made last autumn.  A night in the jelly bag gave me pulp to reduce and dry into fruit leather and a not-too-sweet cordial for sipping on hot days.

When will it set?

The same morning that I picked parental plums I impulsively bought boxes of damaged fruit at the farmer's market: strawberries, raspberries and apricots.  Three jars of apricot jam, one of jar heavenly strawberry-raspberry jam, a jar of raspberries in Cointreau, and a set of  strawberry-raspberry frozen yoghurt popsicles later, I was very tired and sticky- and satisfied.  I love to see the jewel tones that result and I look forward to eating and sharing them.

In the red cave- the jelly bag looks slightly obscene, like an udder of blood. The sheet is to keep the flies off, and I chose a red one as less likely to show any possible jelly stains.

The quantity of sugar required for this kind of preserving is a concern.  I cut back the quantities required in each recipe as much as I dared to try and save my teeth and used Fairtrade sugar to salve my conscience.  After this preserving marathon I won't make more jam or jelly but rather try to focus on savoury products using salt or vinegar as the preservative.

Bottled plums, with a clove

Hearing about my end of year preserving marathon someone commented "Sounds fun, but like a lot of work, I think I could only do so much before being sick of it." It was a lot of work but no more than many household routines before there were supermarkets and refrigerator.  I was a bit sick of it after two days, but also looking forward to the next bout- more plum chutney and plum sauce from another pick of plums next week.

Plum sorbet- a much needed cold treat after all that hot sticky stirring.

I tend to take on big projects that lots of people wouldn't tackle. It's like stitching My Antarctica but tastier.  With every big project- whether a thesis, an installation or a weekend of preserving- I grow more confident in my own capacity to finish what I start. I also research, plan and prepare extensively before I start so then once I get going its just a matter of perseverance.

Raspberries in Cointreau

Blossoms in a vegetable garden

Thornless blackberry, like tiny rosebuds

The blackberry a few weeks later, developing drupes

Southland Sno Pea, a heritage pea generous with its sweet crisp pods and pretty as a sweetpea.

A brown onion getting ready to burst into bloom (these were supermarket onions that sprouted, so I planted them in a pot to see what would happen).

 

Sweet smelling jasmine, one of the few 'proper' flowers round here.

Borlotto bean blossom (with fennel)

Celery going to seed

Chive flowers

The rambling red rose that I was so grateful flowered before anything else, and is now rain battered to death. When the rain finally stops I'll cut it back and see if it comes out for another round this summer.

Nasturtium for my salads

Pretty potato flowers

Mine is not a 'flower garden' but at this time of year it is full of blooms. I wouldn't pick most of them though as they promise fruit and vegetables to come.  Many are small and subtle- I'm letting spinach and other greens go to seed in the hopes they will self seed around the garden and save me some planting work later.