We were flattered, because it was of us, and it was very good.

To find out more, please read on…

This imago-weaver is called Trystan Mitchell, an illustrator of great skill and renown. His images grace all sorts of books, and he is (we believe) even writing his own Wooden Book. He sign-wrote the Rick Stein fish restaurant in Padstow, the Speaking Tree in Glasto, and is a remarkable source of meaningful coloured lines.

We say: Trystan is a sculptor in the medium of story. To understand this, grab a look-see round his webbles:

Red Bubble

Studio Bigfoot

Bigfoot Blanket Blog

Flickr

One of the more surprising good things Trystan did for us,  was to create these cut-out paper models, depicting us cartoonly.

copyright Trystan Mitchell

They are part of his range of ‘Noggins‘, paper-toys and action figures. Trystan has made a whole society of these papery peoples. They can thrive in all sorts of scenarios, and with a little ventriloquy, they’ll sing too.

To download the instructions to make these cut-outs, press HERE. Trystan recommends that they are printed on medium-weight card.

We like such cartooning. It reminds us that our journeys represent simpler shapes and older symbols than we can see. It tells us that the archetypes we sometimes inhabit are not ours, that this rambling life is not our idea, that we’re just borrowing it awhile.

For other prompts in the art of the being alivehuman, keep looking at Trystam’s other works.

And to buy images of the good old future, the wayward past, and the rum denizens of all their borderlands, have a hunt around HERE.

Sincere respect to Trystan Mitchell.

So he’s done a lot of knife sharpening, trying many configurations and possibilities. Always, his trials are informed by a thorough grounded understanding of the tool itself, and the job it has to do.

Man at Spoon

And having found a good way to ensure a sharp blade, Barney on this video shares with us his findings in keeping a knife keen.

Many thanks to Barney Spoon. Look out for him on a footpath somewhere, fresh green spoons lining his smock, small knives glinting in the wooded sunbeams.

Thank-you Ginger.

Tools required, are:

And that’s it.

with Barney Spoon.

This winter, we were visited by a man named Barnaby, who calls himself Barney (though we named him Barn).

Barn makes spoons, with style and profound expertise. He taught us a lot, which is still slowly sinking into our craft consciousness.

We filmed Barn’s spoon chronicles, in order to spread the knowledge as he himself shared it. Here are the four short films, detailing exactly how to make a great spoon. It’s worth getting through to the final video, as it features Barney playing a song on his new spoon.

To add to his glory, Barney is currently on a long walk about Britain, living outside, and trading spoons for hospitality and a bit of food. Where he has reached by now, we cannot say, because he is wise enough to not be encumbered by a website. If we can get updates on his progress, they will be published here.

So, for the videos. Please enjoy them, and tell all your green woodworking friends that the definitive guide to spoon-making is, at last, online. Hurrah for Barney.

Barney Spoon part 1

Barney Spoon part 2

Barney Spoon part 3

Barney Spoon part 4 (the musical one)

Excellent.

Please press MORE, and read it up.

HURDLES IN A COPPICE WINTER

Hurdles, or wattles, are transportable wooden panels, bound together by the weaving and wrapping of horizontal rods around fixed upright rods (aka ’sails’). They are a geodesic approximation of a flat surface, a plain constructed of long round poles.

A Hurdle, in its 'natural' environment

We needed hurdles as flooring, as we were unwilling to import to the woods the only viable free alternative, unwanted pallets. While pallets are free and available, they all contain nasty old nails, and our promise to leave the woods with nothing that would not biodegrade, meant no iron-bound pallets.

So hurdles it was. We were backed by extensive tradition, which we were keen to rediscover. Wattle and daub is a historical catchphrase, and indeed formed one of the oldest building methods whose structures still survive. Wattle and daub, loosely, comprises of a hurdle (probably with unsplit rods, for greater longevity) being covered with mud, or clay, or cob, or poo.

Our eventual hurdled floor achievement

This seemed to work for generations of people in Britain, as a cheap, easy, effective form of house-building that used only abundant local materials.

In fact, most of our traditional British industries (going back a distance) were dependent on the woodlands, our greatest land-based resource. This meant that people of these lands once took very seriously the production of suitable materials from the woods. Hurdling, for example, requires lots of straight rods, and so woodland managment needed to provide this resource. By such prompts, or market-demands, was the system of coppicing developed.

Coppicing is a word that is unknown in much of the world. It is the practise of cutting broad-leaf trees at various regular points of their lives, over a wide section of woodland, and then letting them grow back again.

It has created man-shaped woodlands in Britain which, while not ‘ancient’ or strictly ‘natural’, are very old, very diverse, and very productive. It also created woodland-shaped humans, who were disciplined, observant, and diligent custodians of their wooded landscapes.

Most people react strongly against a tree being cut down, and see it as an unnecessarily early end to a beautiful story. But in a non-fiction world, the coppicing of a broadleaf tree ensures its regeneration, that it may remain ever-young.

Hazel, untended by man, will live for around 100 years, until it falls from its own weight, or rots, and in falling opens its base to the assault of microbia, insects, and fungi. But hazel constantly cut down to the stool, will  live for 1000 years+. The same is true of many trees, although the method of regrowth depends on the tree. Elms sucker from the root. Ash grows above ground, from the stump. Conifers, native or otherwise, will not survive being felled.

These days, when our ‘economy’ justifies the importing of timber grown a thousand miles away, as ‘cheaper’ than wood grown a mile away, old coppices in Britain are often left to rot of their own accord. Many woods are now privately owned, and their owners often espouse the belief that non-maintenance is good maintenance. And perhaps it is true, that in time old coppice woods will revert to a more ‘natural’ state; but it is also true that such a woods will be of limited value to builder-man.

Hurdle floor in Ed's mini house

Coppicing, as a regulated cycle, provides materials for industry, as quick-growing small rods, or as longer-cycling of bigger ’standard’ trees for timber. It also produces fire-wood, and charcoal from the littlest bits, and a good harvest of nuts or fruits (depending on the trees).

But crucially, it also allows wide biodiversity, and a safe refuge for much wildlife. The piles of dead wood that are left in the woods become a valuable habitat. There were buzzards, tawny-owls, hares and woodpeckers in our patch.

And because an area of coppice is worked in rotated sections (coups), there are all stages of growth in a functioning coppice. This ensures a regular dose of direct sunlight onto all parts of the woodland floor, to awaken wild-flower seeds who would not grow in constant darkness, like Foxglove, and to knock back the constant presence of shade-lovers, like Dogs Mercury. And because there is change, within a regular cycle, coppice woodlands allow the presence of what ecologists call a ‘guild’ of plants, meaning groups who are mutually supportive, and can live in conjunction without competing. Primroses, Anenomes, Bluebells and Violets form one such guild, which thrive on coppice floors.

To our neolithic ancestors, the appearance of such wildflowers, especially two or three years after cutting, when the benefits of all that extra photosynthesis have been assimilated, would have given vital medicinal (and some edible) benefits. But these ancestors would doubtless also have delighted in the mostly-aesthetic considerations of the modern eye.

The ancient (and recent) inhabitants of these islands valued local materials in industry and craft, having few other options. Their systems of woodland management would have been painstaking, always keenly observed, with a constant memory and respect for the working traditions that led them there.

They duly learned that trees cut simultaneously over a wide area are more likely to regrow straight, as there is no sideways growth necessary in such an egalitarian competition for light (the only way is up). This was of considerable importance in industry, as regular materials are easier to work than lots of odd shaped and twisty bits. Also, on felling a single tree, many new growths emerge, so there seemed to be an ever-increasing wood to replace what was taken. This was probably pleasing to our projected ancestors, and perhaps we can imagine that such ongoing bounty was taken as a sign of approval, from divine powers, for the good act of coppicing.

Of course, we have mainly out-grown such humility; but then, we’ve also mostly forgotten about coppicing. This island was once entirely wooded, and it is only humans who have altered this. We now enjoy approx 8.4% of England as woods, which to be fair, is an improvement on 200 years ago. But we have also suffered the massive increase of sitka spruce plantations, an Alaskan tree whose fast-growing properties make it the cheapest softwood timber to produce. Today, approx. 30% of trees in England are Sitka. While more trees is always good, such a boom of one species usually occurs at the cost of another, and native woodlands and coppices, whose format and scale are less economically rewarding, are the usual victims.

So Sitka (and other conifers) are usually produced on the site of ancient woodland and coppices, which are grubbed (destroyed) in order to make way for more profitable pine farms. These monocultures of non-native trees are grown with little regard for biodiversity, and they do not coppice, but are cyclically felled and replanted. Much of this is due to the post-war ’scientific’ forestry techniques championed by the newly formed ‘Forestry Commission’. We’ve heard many tales, from long-term local old-boys, of how local fishing streams became dead, brown and fishless, after the FC felled and sold the broadleaved trees, and replanted with soft pines.

Forestry Commission Stewardship in Action

Today, much of this island’s remaining ancient coppice woodland is overstood, that is, in desperate need of regenerating, if the ancient trees are to live on, and if the culture of sustainable management is to be retained.

On arriving at our winter woodland base, we had coppicing on the mind, and were soon put to work on cutting down the hazel, as low to the ground as possible. In 10-12 years, there should be a woodful of straight, bonny hazel rods, all ready for craft. But for us, there was instead a hodge-podge of twisty, gnarly stuff, with some good straight bits thrown in. This, however, is also a working benefit, as it ensures the woodland coppicer is always looking ahead, and planning for the future, for the houses of his grandchildren and onwards.

A Wattle Woodshed we made, beside the Outdoor Baths of Mellowcroft

Luckily for us there were acres of woods to be coppiced, so our only shortages were in motivation, to hunt down the good straight wood and drag it back to camp.

We tried making hurdles in our first days there, with Rose as a primary instigating experimenter (a role she played very well). But the mystery of how to keep the hurdles from falling apart, on every side, seemed impenetrable, despite books galore on ‘how-to’.

Then into our camp strolled Hopper, who was a friend of the wood owners, and has been making hurdles for most of his life. It was his main career for many years, and he still makes them on order today, although he admitted that there is better trade in willow, which is easier to work.

Hopper listened to our plans, and told us we were crazy, that a hurdle panel floor would take too long, and we should find another way.

But he also told us everything we could need to know, should we decide anyway to pursue our unreasonable and unlikely plan.

We found Hopper’s knowledge to be beyond expert. He is a born teacher, and could explain what he knew in simple and accessible ways.

WE BELIEVE…it is the mark of a true professional, an artisan and an artist, for someone to be willing to openly share the “secrets” of their skills, without thought of recompense or competition. Anyone who refuses to divulge such information, a hoarder of knowledge, is (we surmise) a charlatan, afraid more to reveal their lack of understanding, than of losing their perceived information monopoly.

But we may be wrong on that.

Lee carries one home

So here is Hopper’s guide to Hurdle-making, as we heard it.

A further instructional video, of Hopper teaching us how to split hazel rods, is available HERE.

Please, as ever, ask any questions that you may feel prompted by this post, and its accompanying video. And please feel affected by all arising issues.

We really want you, the person on the other end of the wire, to let us know what you know, about coppicing and hurdling (and unrelated other things too). We compile and release information not only for the outward education, but also to attract further (and alternative) knowledgeable responses. So share your findings, in the vital and wholesome arena of traditional woodland management, and we’ll all have a jolly dialogue.

See you in the good old future.

We look forward.

Hurdled loo hole

Hurdle floor underside

Ayla in a hurdle hangout, beside the bathside

Hopper had already taught us the rudimentary techniques of hurdle-making (CLICK HERE), and in this video he shows us how to split hazel rods.

As well as the practical techniques of splitting, Hopper also shows how to measure the height of a tree, with a stick. Interested?

There’s also an interesting discussion, on recycling, universities, and Martians. And there is a very blunt billhook, the inadequacy of which led Hopper to loan us a nice sharp replacement.

The video might take a short while to buffer, but please be patient. Hopper is worth the wait…

Good luck. If you succeed, please send us a photo…

Press More for cut-outs

The Ed Noggin

page 1 of cut-out Ed

Page 2 of the Ed monster

Page 3 cut out Ed

page 4 of the Ed bot

The Will Noggin

page 1 cut-out Will

page 2 Will bot

Page 3 make a Will man

Page 4 Will cut-quick

These are some of the songs we have been learning.

Because they are not polished, there are mis-takes, but they are energetic and exciting, we think.

not always neat and pretty

Press More for more…

High Barbary

The first recorded version of this song dates from 1595, and refers to ships named the ‘George Aloe’ and the ‘Sweepstake’.

This version is an updating from the last half of the 18th century, when North African pirates were causing huge problems for English and American shipping.

These problems eventually led to the Barbary Wars of the early 19th Century. North America refused to pay the tributes demanded by North African Barbary states, for safe-passage of their ships.

This song, promoting Anglo/European high-seas success, acts as a piece of pro-government propoganda, convincing would-be sailors and investors that the merchant ships could fight back. Perhaps this indicates to the canny historian that the usual state of affairs was in fact the opposite…

Hit Me Baby

This is a Britney Spears number. It is sufficiently well-known, and covered by enough other performers, to be slotted into the folk canon, should such a thing exist. One day, we will learn the whole song. It is always popular with teens of the right era, and can be a useful attention keeper mid-gig.

Pleasant and Delightful

This song dates from the mid 19th cenury, in its earliest written form. It was sold as a ballad, as a printed sheet probably advertised by the seller singing it.

It was collected by Bert Lloyd from East Anglia singers, in 1939, and has today reached as far as you and us.

The Parting Glass

This is a classic farewell for friends. It was here sung with Sam Lee as a third part harmony, in our rained-upon dome house, this winter gone.

It was once allegedly the most popular song in Ireland and Scotland, and dates in its earliest records to 1605, when a verse of the song was written in a letter by one of the Border Reivers, who was executed a year later.

We learned it from a Robin Williamson recording, and we recommend that anyone, hearing it from us as a new song, should refer onwards to Robin’s excellent version.

Thankyou for listening.

A compost loo was the best quick idea we could see to solve this problem, a big hole in which the rich nightsoil (we like that word) could break itself down, and harmlessly enrich the local earth.

First was the hole, which as we’ve mentioned, provided clay for the window-cobbing. Next, we placed 4 straw bales around the trench, and pegged them down with hurdle rods, so there could be no dreadful tumbling accidents. The bales also heightened the action position, meaning our hole did not have to be so deep.

Then a specially designed hurdle was made, with a hole in it.

This meant our loo was a squatting only contraption, which everyone knows is the only way to poo wholesomely. For guests who couldn’t handle this, there was a traditionally seated compost loo ten minutes walk away, at the other end of the wood.

Lastly, a hazel dome frame was dug in and woven over the top of the bales and hurdle, which was itself covered in canvas, to keep the our heads, and the composting deposits, dry.

What we dropped therein, we covered with either wood-ash, a useful double use for our regular stove clean-out. If wood-ash was short, then leaves sufficed. This helped with the breakdown.

We often wonder how people justify dispatching their poo with drinkable water, when there is such a shortage in this land, and in others. For one thing, water is expensive! And it is heavy. Having to carry our water only a quarter of a mile made us appreicate the daily duty of water.

Toilet paper was something we initially did without, but the regular guests in our winter home meant that this odd luxury was brought in, and often lingered after guests left. Certainly, the most local moss supplies ran low, and we were often glad of our toilet roll stash.

We can recommend heartily the act of compost-loo building, as an alternative to wasting gallons of good water a day. Every other living creature lets their excrement fall to earth, and we believe humans can do this too.

]]> http://www.awalkaroundbritain.com/knowledge/outdoor-living/our-compost-loo/feed/ 1 http://www.awalkaroundbritain.com/knowledge/outdoor-living/crafting-a-house-in-the-woods-some-extra-details http://www.awalkaroundbritain.com/knowledge/outdoor-living/crafting-a-house-in-the-woods-some-extra-details#comments Mon, 28 Jun 2010 17:03:13 +0000 Branching Arts http://www.awalkaroundbritain.com/ This winter, we made all sorts of things from the wood around us. When we arrived, we had some rudimentary hand-tools, but nothing electric or powered. Good axes were brought from home, and a boot fair provided us with hand-drills and bits, an iron digging stick, a good shovel and a bow-saw, the best of available technologies.

the finished job

Material-wise, we were coppicing, so hazel rods were plentiful, and standards (timber trees) were also being felled, so ash and oak were also to hand. Everything but the roof of our house (which was of secondhand canvas) was made from immediate resources – except for parts whoch we liberated from the local tip. We prided ourselves on using no metal or plastic in it, until the perspex slabs were donated for window use. The breaking of resolve on this point meant that we did finish one window with 10 little metal tacks. It was 20 times quicker than carving hazel pegs ourselves,and we were really getting tired.

Rose and Ayla were driving forces in the ‘free-time-equals-craft-time’ paradigm, and we are well grateful for all they taught us this winter, in practical and motivational terms.

Press MORE to see some crafty details of the house, as it was made from ideas, sweat and hazel. At the bottom of the page you will also find a video of the house growing up.

The House

Our first big challenge, which had to be done before the cold really kicked in, was the main house. This needed to be temporary, but strong enough to withstand anything the unknown winter ahead could throw our way.

Thankfully, we were between a hillsides and treelines, so the wind’s worst lashes were avoided.

We had various plans, and they were all adapted in situ, for pragmatism overwhelmed all. But stage by stage, we got there. The hazel dome on stilts took 1 month to create, with the four of us working full time (alongside all the other necessary doings of woodland life…).

While it was being built, we all lived either under thin plastic sheets, or in the A Frame. Neither option was off the floor, so we became pretty savvy about the nocturnal habits of the wood mice (apodemus sylvaticus).

A platform was the first adaptation we made to our general hazel dome plan, as the woods were damp, and the millions of wood-mice wanted to sharpen their ever-growing teeth on anything we valued.

But a platform needed to flat, and we had no access to machine-made plywood. So we had to improvise, with hazel hurdles.

platform is strong

hurdle undersides make great waterproof storage

This was a learning process all of its own, which we will discuss in another post.

The next step was in creating the upright structure, to hold the canvas and straw insulation off our heads.

dome arising

We then needed to weave the structure with long hazel rods, cut and trimmed with the billhook. This made the dome structure strong enough to support the canvas, and our weight. It is amazing how a single piece of flexible hazel wood can be woven with others, to create something many times stronger. Weaving seems to be a core human technology, for baskets, hurdles, fabric and clothing, and even computer information is woven (010101101100).

Anyway, next the canvas was draped and arranged, with twine from side to side, to encourage it to stay in place. It is pretty heavy stuff, so there was little danger of it blowing away, but better safe…

ed grapples canvas

Rose gets comfy

A hurdle foyer then provided the transition space between outside and inside, somewhere to remove shoes (which were never worn indoors).

the foyer gets made

Straw was then stuffed, by the slab, into the space between the canvas and the interior blanket layer. This kept the heat in, and made the whole thing look like a puffa jacket.

puffy with straw

The next step was in fixing the windows, which Rose decided would be best done with cob.

When i’m cobbing Windows

The perspex window panes were donated by a kind lady, and they were framed with hazel sticks, gouged out and pegged with hazel to hold all together. The gaps between these windows, which were bound onto the main house hazel frame, were decided to be best plugged around with cob.

Heavy clay subsoil, dug from the compost loo pit, was mixed with straw and rainwater in a tin tub borrowed for the task. The straw supplies the lengthy fibres which bind the clay together, and stop lumps dropping off. We mixed in as much straw as we could, Rose’s hands almost falling off with this job, but a surprisingly small amount of straw could be persuaded to mix in.

Old bottles were added to the mix, to allow light transference, and a splash of good morning colour.

free coloured glass

This was all done, and an overhang designed to protect the cob from the worst of the driving rains – a good hat and boots, they say, ensures cob will endure.

good cobbed windows

The old wood burner we installed in a corner of the house helped greatly in drying the cob out thoroughly, and likewise in keeping us alive during the chillier snaps.

It would have been cleverer to cob in the summer months, when there is no danger of freezing. But no such option existed.

cob and ice should be kept well seperate

Some sand in the mix would also likely have helped, as the clay has little sand in it. But, with the materials at hand, the job was bodged sufficiently well, and the windows let in light, while the cob kept out draughts.

what do you see?

This technology worked very well, and it is no surprise that as a temporary shelter, cob and hazel has such a solid ancient reputation – wattle and daub, they call it, and in places it has lasted many hundreds of years.

To finish, here is a short video compilation of the house, as it pops up to nestle us. Please enjoy.