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A week ago, we moved out of the house that we’d been calling home for a year. We loaded our possessions into the back of Kerry’s white van and stood back, slightly perplexed when we realised that there was hardly any space to spare. This was particularly surprising because we’d arrived only with our bikes and a couple of suitcases, demonstrating quite aptly the human propensity for accumulating stuff. Sometimes I marvel at the amount of things that we need just to survive, we’re like magpies. When Laurence and I cycled from Sweden to Ireland with our home strapped onto our bike racks, we constantly loaded and unloaded and packed and unpacked our tent, mats, sleeping bags, clothes, gas burners, pots, forks, tupperware, loo roll, water and food; proving that we’re really quite a cumbersome species, compared with say, a dog or a rabbit.
A week ago, we moved out of the house that we’d been calling home for a year. We loaded our possessions into the back of Kerry’s white van and stood back, slightly perplexed when we realised that there was hardly any space to spare. This was particularly surprising because we’d arrived only with our bikes and a couple of suitcases, demonstrating quite aptly the human propensity for accumulating stuff. Sometimes I marvel at the amount of things that we need just to survive, we’re like magpies. When Laurence and I cycled from Sweden to Ireland with our home strapped onto our bike racks, we constantly loaded and unloaded and packed and unpacked our tent, mats, sleeping bags, clothes, gas burners, pots, forks, tupperware, loo roll, water and food; proving that we’re really quite a cumbersome species, compared with say, a dog or a rabbit.
The loaded van marked the end of our year-long ‘experiment’, although it remains to be seen what this so-called ‘experiment’ was about. On my CV I have described our time at the Three Goats as a small-holding project, and on this blog I think that I have written something about sustainability. These are terms that I use to make choosing to spend a year living in something akin to poverty sound relatable to my more cosmopolitan friends. Although, it should also be noted that this year has been one of the most interesting of my life.
A year ago, we suddenly found ourselves in permaculture heaven. We had three acres unexpectedly bestowed upon us, so we set out to create the most amazing vegetable garden. Our heads full of David Holmgren, Charles Dowding and Sep Holtzer, we felt instinctively that we would abide by a no-dig - polycultural philosophy. We planted 40 different varieties of heritage seeds, and Laurence got to work designing the hogelkultur, and lazybeds ( the creation of which turned out to be the furthest thing from lazy that you could possibly get). Everyday we tended to our seedlings, and every night for two months we went out with torches and picked off all the slugs that were hell bent on eating them. We relocated the slimey critters to a new life on the GAA pitch at the bottom of the hill. The polyculture philosophy soon fell by the way-side when it proved too confusing keeping track of what was planted where and we kept discovering plants that had flowered before we’d had a chance to harvest them. However, the no-dig approach was definitely a winner. After a couple of months we had a steady supply of fresh organic veggies that lasted right up until we left, and I have to say that it’s probably one of the things that I will miss the most.
We spent a good amount of time clearing out the house - the facilities of which - could have been described as basic or ingenius, depending on your point of view. An example of this was the rudimentary plumbing system that relied upon water drawn from a shallow well in a neighbouring field. Water was electrically pumped into four 1000 litre tanks located a hundred metres uphill from the house, the water was then gravity fed down into the faucets of the house. The system comprised - in some parts - of plastic pipes duct taped together and thick black plastic hoses that weaved their way above ground, through the grass, to connect the tanks to the house. Before the pump could be turned on, you had to check that the water level in the well was high enough, which involved the slightly scary experience of running through a field of masticating cows. You then had to run back and adjust all of the valves manually and in the correct order so that the water supply would reach its intended destination of the tanks; and not blast at high pressure into the house, spewing out of the upstairs shower unit and through the kitchen ceiling. We ended up learning this particular lesson the hard way.
After a couple of months we decided to put a room in the house up for rent on Airbnb. We were a little worried that customers might be horrified about having to pay for the primitive conditions, but we figured that the goats, cheap price and amazing location might prove enough of a selling point. Our first guests were a lovely young couple from New York. When they arrived we sat them down, offered them cups of herbal tea, and ended up chatting late into the night with the kind of intimacy that only occurs with people met traveling. We had to remind ourselves that there was a professional dynamic to the relationship and that they were in fact paying us; it was a little weird to get our heads around. I didn’t really sleep that night, I was so worried that they’d call our bluff and confront us about how we dared rent out a room in such a ramshackle house. However, that didn’t happen, they gave us a fantastic review and our stint as B&B proprietors began. All through the summer and way into December we had a steady stream of interesting guests. Lots of Germans and French, but also Americans, Canadians, Australians, Dutch and Yugoslavians. We had couples, singles, friends, siblings, parents and children. Some stayed just one night whilst others stayed an entire week. It was great. The experience of having so many people coming and going, and so many conversations over cups of tea and long breakfasts finally made me lose my fear of awkward silences with strangers; this, if for no other reason, made the whole experience worth it.
When the winter set in the entire property turned to mud and it was impossible to go outside without sliding around in the big brown mess. It rained day after day and became ever colder inside the house, which had no central heating. We decided to close off the Airbnb after both my Dad and the local taxi guy got their vehicles stuck trying to traverse our very steep and muddy road. On both occasions we had been forced to call upon the services of our tractor owning neighbour. He had been only too happy to help, but we thought it best not to push our luck by continuing to call him out to tow streams of tourist rental cars off a grassy verge.
Small-holding is the ultimate long term project, so when it became clear that we wouldn't be spending another growing season at the house we found that we had substantially less to do outside around the property, because there's no point preparing beds that you're not going to be growing anything in. At a bit of a loss with how to expend our mental energies, we turned our attention indoors, conversely finding ourselves re-inhabiting the world that we has left behind in the summer of 2014. I decided to complete my BA online, and spent my days staring at the pages of books, engaged in a battle to force my feral brain to concentrate. I'm still battling, but the end is now in sight and I'm kinda happy that I'll no longer belong to that glorious category of person known as 'the university drop-out'. Laurence got a maths job covering maternity leave in the local school which brought him in touch with the local community; significantly widening his world from the strange beatnik bubble we’d been living in.
We'd been warned that the winter would be the true test of our commitment to this type of lifestyle, and I have to admit that I really didn't enjoy living without central heating. Everyday I wrapped myself in layers of woolly jumpers and sat in our electric blanket warmed bed studying. My writing hand was the only part of me that was exposed and I often had to take a break from note taking just so I could warm it enough to be able to write again. I'd been rather blase about the prospect of winter because of my five years spent in Scandinavia. However, my mind still contracted as the weather worsened and I experienced a very strong dose of cabin fever.
Our year at the house was both beautiful and terrible, amazing and mundane, and I'll be forever grateful to Ian for giving us the opportunity to test out our small-holding dream. I learned that I'm a lot hardier than I thought I was; that I'm capable of fixing, carrying, growing and mucking out. I also learned to appreciate the creature comforts; radiators, hot running water and unlimited internet data become unspeakable luxuries when you spend so long living without them. I learned that sustainability is a lot more complicated than moving to a piece of land in the country and growing some vegetables. I learned that it is impossible to be self sufficient instantly and that we are always - to a certain extent- reliant upon the capitalist system of goods and services that we were trying so desperately to escape. This does not mean that it is not important to make environmentally friendly choices, only that a collective reform of the whole system is necessary for true sustainability to be achieved.
As for me and Laurence; we'll be staying on in Beara for another two months, until I finish my studies and Laurence finishes his job. After that we do not know what we will do or where we will go. We have decided not to think about it, only be open to what comes. One thing is for sure though - we're both secretly hoping that this wholesome adventure of ours can continue. So be sure to give us a shout if you hear anything about a cheap bit of land!