HUNTER-GATHERING: wild & fresh food

The End?

 “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Winston Churchill.

 It was around this time last year that, after a particularly expensive trip to the butchers, I got home and sat on the sofa thinking how ludicrous the price of meat has become. That was when I began thinking how nice it would be if meat was free, then I began thinking about all the other things that “could” be free. A couple of hours later I had decided that come Spring the following year, I would build a treehouse and live off the land for 6 months. I suppose, at the time, it was no more than pure fantasy.

 

One year on, it has been done. Six months of treehugging and Neanderthal dietary requirements came to an end yesterday. Friday night was spent sat around a small bonfire with a few chaps who helped me get the idea off the ground, enjoying many of culinary treats I had been denied for too long. It was a fine evening and grand send off for the place that had become my home.

 

 I have learnt a huge amount, both about myself and the surrounding landscape. I went to the woods thinking I knew it all, only to find I had barely brushed the surface. I am still learning and will be for a long time. Certainly there have been good times and bad times, mostly the former…

 

So what now? What happens to the treehouse? My Arboreal home is to be entrusted to my landlord’s youngest son, Henry (11). I think it will be safe in his hands, as long as he doesn’t mind me staying there from time to time! Now is the time for writing the book, followed by a month in France with the fiancée: Can’t wait!

 

 

As for next year, I am looking at taking on something a little more challenging…its about time I got off the treehouse ladder and on to one of the property variety. Watch this space! So to all of you who have followed my exploits, I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have and thanks you for all the kind comments. I am currently enjoying the use of light switches and running water, perhaps even a spot of TV? Best take it slow!

Moving to the trees has been the best thing I have ever done with my life. Waving goodbye to London was perhaps one of my more smug moments, having had the city of sin almost suck the soul right out of me. Being out in the big open spaces of the British countryside is a wonderful thing, to carve out your own existence and live comfortably by your own hand is something few of us in the developed world get to experience. Having spent six months living this way has, I think, changed me forever and for the better.

 

And for that, I am truly grateful.

 

A visit from Reuters: A short video...with a squirrel supper.

Finally, I have mastered how to attach videos! After reading up on URL and embedding codes and other technical nonsense, turns out there is a simple video tab button and they do the rest for you. Do you think I have been in a tree too long? See for yourself:

Cauliflower cheese and Sorrel Verde.

“Whats that structure there?” so came the innocent question from the Reuters news journalist.

“A bench.” I said. What else could it be?

The last week has been full on. Monday to Tuesday I was visited by an extremely talented photographer, Greg Funnell (www.gregfunnell.com) and then Wednesday- Thursday, a young adventure called Kevin who is planning to cycle and sail around the world next year (www.becauseitisthere.co.uk) each were treated to the delights of treehouse living from pheasant to squirrel and even a taste of the somewhat elusive Cauliflower fungus. Friday was left aside for a visit from Reuters News and weirdly, as I later found out, the chairman of Reuters happens to be my next door neighbour and lives the other side of my wood. That would explain the big house and perfectly manicured gardens…

 

Mr. Greg Funnell kicking back after a meal of pan fried pheasant.

Last Sunday, I was invited to have a stall at Parham Foraging and Autumn Countryside day. Taking most of my props from the treehouse, I set up and spent the day talking to the my fellow Sussex dwellers about my life in the woods. Much interest and some epic questioning left me exhausted. I did learn a cunning way to remove pheasant breasts with minimum effort form one young chap. It involves standing on the wings and pulling the pheasants feet slowly yet forcefully. When exercised in the presence of Greg, I didn’t expect the pheasant to end up in to pieces…but, it worked a dream…good work fella: great tip!

 

As I begin my last week in the treehouse, before immersing myself in a month of book writing, I have a heavy bout of melancholy weighing me down. On the one hand I am slightly looking forward to the ease of normal life, and on the other worried about leaving the home I have built for myself and the glorious, simple yet tranquil bubble I have been living in for the last 6 months.

So for the final recipe from treeland (not that there have been all that many…most are set aside to grace the pages of “The Treehouse diaries”), I thought I would hit you with this little beauty.

I have covered the cauliflower fungus before, but this time I decided to play around with it a bit more. Heading back to the spot where I found them last year, I was rewarded with 3 this time, all on tip-top form. Cauliflowers are always found at the base of big, old Scot’s pine trees, and because they look like no other fungus you would ever find in Britain: It is a safe and reliable source of wild fungi.

 

Cauliflower cheese and Sorrel verde.

Other than pickling it, the only other use for the vegetable is cauliflower cheese. I myself have never been keen on the canned fart essence of the vegetable, but the mushroom version smells spectacular.

The sorrel verde is a play on salsa verde and incorporates the punchy sorrel leave instead of mint, basil and parsley.

Sorrel verde:

A handful of sorrel leaves (finely chopped)

Zest of half a lemon (finely chopped)

3 tbsp of olive oil

1 tsp of Dijon mustard

1 tsp of cider vinegar

Salt & pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix thoroughly, allow to sit for at least 30 minutes to let flavours mingle and make friends.

Cauliflower cheese:

Cut the cauliflower fungus in to 1cm thick slices (they have the tendancy to fall apart but to your best!) fry in butter for 3 to 5 mins on each side. I plated mine up and sprinkled parmesan over it, as that was all I had, but I would recommend a good mature cheddar.

Drizzle the sorrel verde over the top with a teaspoon and try not to scoff without delay!

One thing I always knew was that the treehouse wouldn't be finished till I left, there is always a little tweak or improvement that can be done...the hops hanging from the rafters are the latest rustic addition.My final week will no doubt be spent alone, contemplating what I have learnt from my little experience and embracing the onslought of winter rather than despising it (something that talk a couple of weeks to get to grips with). My last night, October 31^st, coincides with Halloween…what better place to have a knees up with all those that have helped me along the way and tell a few ghost stories around a roaring fire.

Just as well really, my diary has finally run out of pages!

 

Mastering the self timer…

I took on the massive responsibility of doing all the photography for my forthcoming book about my time in a tree…a daunting prospect indeed. Most of the time it is only me down here, so I (at the mercy of Nikon’s terms) have become a bona fide master of the self timer…sort of.

Whilst perusing through the photo library to get rid of any dead wood, I came across these shots. Now some are due to fish misbehaving (slippery buggers) and others are taken in that moment you know it is too late for suitable posing, so inevitably you do something stupid…perhaps these are the pictures that were never meant to be posted, but the self timer has become a large part of Treehouse living and its only fair to show a few!

I apologise for the blatant humanity and lewdness of some...but such is life!

 

You can guess at the use of profanity here after dropping a large pike that was reluctant to have it's picture taken.

 

Broadcasting house with Mr Paddy o'Connell, just not quick enough!

 

Getting into bed too slowly to read.

 

I had to put a good'un at the end...Thank you Al Humphreys for capturing the slaughter of the eel!

The First Attempt.

With my time in the treehouse drawing to a close, I have become increasingly pensive. What lead me down this path and why? It was with such things in mind that I decided to take a trip down memory lane and head over to the depths of Ashdown Forest: my stomping ground from the age I could walk till the midst of my adolescent youth.

They say some things are best left in the past, in this case seeing what the nouveau-riche scum that now resided in the old Weston homestead had done was appalling. Gone was the orchard and many of the trees I first clambered up, the gardens: landscaped and covered with disgusting moulded statues of naked ladies…clearly money can’t buy taste!

Moving away from the monstrosity that was, in my mind, the perfect place I grew up, I walked about the surrounding woods in search of my early efforts at outdoor living. I was rewarded. A few planks of wood rested in the fork of an old oak tree: this was my first effort at a treehouse, not much considering my present dwelling, but a start none the less. If I remember correctly , I was about 8 years old and the treehouse didn’t get much further than a platform after my father realised I was pinching his very expensive mahogany shelving and nailing it into a tree, discipline followed and that was that.

Another relic of my feral outdoor antics lay close by. The easiest oven you could make (perhaps one I should have considered before my recent efforts), a crumbled, moss-coated heap of bricks, which had once been laid out in circles one on top of the other. I was overjoyed that these markers still sat where they always had… a little bit of my own history still there.

The weather has become colder and my arms are aching from sawing endless branches of heavy old oak to feed bertha. The rain earlier this week was so furious it began to leak into the treehouse and bowls and mugs were strewn across the floor to catch the water. In the past I have welcomed the changing seasons and the leaves falling from the trees, this time it feels different, like watching a dear friend waste away. To say I have been a victim of seasonal affective disorder would be an understatement! But spring will come around again…it always does.

 

Decoying for Snacks...

One thing I am always on the lookout for down in the woods is a tasty snack: a quick-fix solution for a rumbling stomach that doesn’t need skinning, cleaning or cooking first. There have been a variety of different treehouse titbits: Pickled eggs, pickled samphire, flatbreads & stinger pesto, apples, stock cubes & boiling water, blackberries…etc. Now autumn has arrived Chestnuts and hazel nuts are becoming incredibly popular.

A snackfood down here needs to be able to pack some serious protein for the amount of energy I use. Beef jerky or biltong have always been good friends of mine, so much so that I got my hands on a biltong machine and posted the results here sometime ago. Without a fridge or freezer, a glut of meat needs to be processed for future use. My degree in archaeology, in which I specialised in Hunter-gatherer societies finally becomes handy…what to do?

Smoking, or to be more accurate smoke-air drying is the caveman way of preserving. It also tastes bloody good.

I came across a glut of pigeon. Actually, I sat in a hide with the shotgun for most of the day, beside a recently cut maize field: something a greedy pigeon would find hard to ignore. 

Decoying is a wonderful way to pass the day. I find it hard to understand why people payout a large sum of cash to spend a day blasting away at pheasants, when a days pigeon shooting comes for free, if you get friendly with a farmer. I am sure many a pheasant shooter would also agree that the wood pigeon presents a far more sporting challenge than any dopey high-flying pheasant. Pigeons fly at a ridiculous rate, more so on a windy day, their eyesight is phenomenally good and they can spot you a mile away.

As I was to learn, there is a lot more to decoying than simply plonking a bunch of plastic pigeons in a field and keeping your fingers crossed. Movement is key, the pigeons are mounted on short lengths of coat hanger wire, so they nod in the breeze. The decoys must face the wind in a V- formation, which will be sharper in high wind or flatter (almost horseshoe shaped) in light wind.

Tom, a true Sussex gentleman born and bred, was showing me the ropes. Not only did he entertain me with his stories of poaching and ferreting the South Downs as a youth, he also had a vast knowledge of pigeons, from racing them to shooting them. It was also he who made me realise I was left-eye dominant…that would explain why I have never been able to look through binoculars properly!

Over the course of the day, we probably missed more birds than we shot and left with a modest bag of 12. The thing I found weird was that pigeons pitched in the trees surrounding a field will fly in literally just after one of its kind has been shot and doesn’t seem to register the unsubtle “KABOOM” of a 12-bore shotgun. Fools.

Managing to fit all twelve pigeons into a standard shopping bag, I trundled back to the treehouse to begin the processing. 12 pigeons= 24 breasts, 24 breasts each split into 4= 96 strips. Plenty for snacking! The breast removal took the best part of 45minutes, pluck breast feathers, cut out breasts, leave carcass for my foxes.

I built a basic A-frame over the fire and covered it with two ponchos to create a smoke chamber. Underneath I made a “smudge” fire, basically a smouldering collection of large, dry Oak logs. The pigeon breasts, now cut into 4, were place into 2 piles and patted dry with a tea towel. 

I did one pile of pigeon with a basic seasoning of salt and pepper. The other pile was destined for something a little spicier. A friend, Chopper, had brought down 2 spice mills for me: Piri-Piri and Jamaican jerk. The flakes of dried chilli in the piri-piri were irresistible and were added along with a generous sprinkle of salt, to help draw out the moisture.

Mounted on stripped hazel skewers, the meat took about 7 hours of smoking; they then needed a further 5 hours over the stove (I think 5, but fell asleep). I sat by the smoking fire, pouring on a little water every time a flame appeared; the meat needed smoking not roasting.

The result was mouth-wateringly moreish strips of the best-smoked pigeon jerky I have ever tasted (in fact, the only). The only problem was that after all that work, they very nearly disappeared overnight…only my will power (of which there isn’t always a lot!) kept my sneaky fingers at bay.

I do apologise for lack of radio contact of late, other things have been going on, I had to pop of to Cornwall for a couple of days for two reasons: the only surf of the year and to propose to Clare- thankfully she said yes! I now have a feancy…finace…finance? Yes, fiancée. That’s the one.

With a month left in the treehouse, I have begun patching up holes and stuffing sheep’s wool into cracks to keep out the advancing winter…the untreated wool from a nearby farm has made the place smell like a sheep pen. To counteract this balls up I have gathered hops from the hedgerow by the side of the wood and strung them proper “country pub” fashion, along the main beam of the house, it has worked but know I know find it hard to wake up from the deep drunken slumber brought on by the medicinal properties of the plant. If you suffer from insomnia or other sleep disorders, stick a bunch of hops under your pillow!

Finally today the rain came, not something I usually hope for, but it might entice some mushrooms out of the ground! Oh, and I have made my rabbit skin rug too…finally.

The Treehouse diaries: 10 things I hate about you…(or is that love?)

Living in the branches in a house you’ve built with your bare hands, gleaning the surrounding landscape for food can seem like an idyllic way of life…really living each day to the full. True it is amazing, but it comes with a list as long as my arm of things that are an absolute pain in the arse!

I have narrowed it down to 10 things which really get my goat, so before you think about moving to the trees and living in la-la land, please consider the following carefully:

 

1: Squirrels using my corrugated iron roof for drum practise as soon as the sun comes up: It’s great having a natural alarm clock you can rely on, but not when there is no need to be up for 6am…many a time have I run onto the balcony in boxer shorts with loaded shotgun in hand hoping for an easy breakfast and a couple more hours kip.

 

2:Light switches and loo flushing: This is more about being frustrated at one’s own stupidity. After 24 years (wasn’t really capable till the age of 4) of walking into a room and reaching for the light switch, I still do it every time I walk in to the treehouse, likewise when I use the throne. When, oh when will I will my natural instinct realise I have no power and no plumbing?

 

3: Wood chopping: Its all very well if you have a chainsaw, but having to wander around the wood dragging branches back to put under the treehouse to power the central heating and cooking side of things can lose its enjoyment factor after a while. Being self-sufficient is great, but it does become a bit like dealing with a daily commute after a while: you do it because you have to.

 

4: Animals: To be fair, I am in their neck of the woods. Each has taken on its own persona and a hierarchy has emerged. The foxes are clearly trying to tell me something by shitting in the middle of my path to the toilet, frequently. There is nothing more unpleasant than feeling the warm squelch of fox shit between your toes on a midnight excursion to the loo. I do find it amusing when I find the rocks I use in my underground oven scattered about the wood, the rocks get covered in the meaty juices from a particular joint and the fox thinks he has an easy meal…no, its just a rock. Occasionally the odd bird finds it’s way into the treehouse…usually tit’s.

Mice run all over the washing up area in search of scraps then decide to drop through the plughole into the bucket that collects water and end up drowning, I like fishing, but not fishing out dead mice from an area that is meant to be “sanitary”.

 

5: Upstairs, downstairs: Most of the time I tend to cook downstairs around the fireplace. Everything is kept up in the treehouse, this means a lot of up and down, which after a while can become quite annoying…

 

6: Meat: Now I am a real carnivore. It IS part of my 5-a-day, if I don’t get it lack of protein=lack of energy. Not every hunt is successful and few things down here are harder to deal with than empty traps or a lack of fur and feather in the surrounding vicinity. Especially when the sky begins to bruise…

 

7: The Real world: Yes, I have an i-phone, which is powered by a SOLIO solar charger. This is necessary to keep in contact with the real world and tweet my daily specials, especially the Girlfriend: after 3 months of no contact when I was shipwrecked in the Cook Islands: it’s the least I can do. Having to pop back once a week to the nerve centre to do blogs, banking and other bollocks does make the whole experience a little “Bear Grylls”. Oh well, this is the 21^st century and I am not a hermit!

8: The Seasons: Seasonality is a key point, I believe, when it comes to eating. We should all try to eat what is available (locally, if possible) at certain times of year…as a rough guide: salads and strawberries in summer and root veg in the winter. Down here I am at the mercy of the seasons. The vegetable patch, the wild larder and even the game and fish have their seasons too. Trying to get the best out of each resource before it disappears is a nightmare…I was very upset to see the wild garlic go!

 

9: Books and Radio: Now, books and radio are my main source of entertainment. There is nothing worse than having to wind up the radio during an exciting moment of the last test in the Ashes when Stuart Broad was making the Aussies look like a bunch of schoolgirls. As far as books go, I usually have a few on the go: there is nothing more frustrating than reaching a stale point in a book. I find this frequently with Paul Theroux  (although the majority is excellent). Now for my American audience: I now how "Walden: a life in the woods" by Thoreau is upheld as an all time American Classic and has inspired the likes of Marx and Gandhi. I thought as I was living in the woods, I should have a read...and I am sorry to say it did little for me and I gave up on it before long. Perhaps the stiff upper lip got the better of me...

 

10: Loneliness: Human interaction, however much we loathe it at times, is a great thing. Life is best when shared. I can cook something pretty special with a pigeon I’ve shot or a trout that I’ve caught, but when there is no one to share it with or even to converse with while you are enjoying your meal, it isn’t quite the same. No radio or book could ever take the place of someone to talk to, talking to yourself is one thing, but talking to someone else is the best entertainment of all.

The Treehouse diaries: The things people say…

Telling people of your present circumstances is always going to provoke a barrage of questions if you happen to be living in a treehouse. I have had a huge variety, some serious, some hilarious and some confused, from the camo-wrapped survival geek, the overenthusiastic Radio DJ to the mum with three kids: all have surprised me, shocked me and in some cases I have been the one furrowing my brow and scratching my head.

The bulk of the interrogation has come from Safari Britain, where I have been teaching foraging over the summer. A lot of the campers are families from London and naturally large groups of energetic, enthusiastic city kids, suddenly unrestrained from the confines of London parks. Showing said children the fine art of gutting and jointing a rabbit or peeling a squirrel give the children plenty of gore factor to take home, as well as various parts of animal anatomy. 

“Can I have the head?”

Quite what a young lad would want with a rabbit’s head is beyond me. But then I remember keeping a dead Adder in a box when I was of similar size and stature.

So here they are, the things people say. The good, the bad and the ugly, from questions to comments…I have done my best to answer or comment myself in brackets!

“Do you eat many Parrots?” boy aged 3.

(No, not many up for grabs around here still on the wish list!)

 

“Do you really wipe your bum with sawdust?” Irish Radio DJ.

(I think he got the wrong end of the stick when I was explaining my composting toilet, generally I use v.cheap loo paper.)

 

“How do you get around the legality of trapping animals?”

(The majority of the trapping I do is experimental, when set I do check them frequently and if I do catch something it is dispatched quickly)

 

“Do you have a TV and Playstation in the treehouse?” Boy aged 10.

(No power I’m afraid! Never been much of a gamer anyway)

 

“Have you killed and eaten any cows from nearby fields?”

(I would be lying if I said the thought had never crossed my mind, but who wants an angry farmer on their case?)

 

“How do you wash?”

(With water and soap using my shower, teeth brushing and shaving takes place at the sink unit)

 

“I hope he pays council tax”

(Hmmm…for what exactly? Ridiculous!)

 

“Appeared in C4's 'Shipwrecked', and now flogging himself to the papers as a Claphamite eco-warrior...I'm sorry, but the whole thing smells of PR stunt, and not a lot else. Why choose Kent, and not a far-flung shore, or a remote area of Scotland?
Ah! Got it! No pizza delivery! I'm guessing he didn't even build his "house" on his own…”

Jock, London.

(One of my favorites- there is nothing like a bit of completely mindless criticism! I suspect “jock” Didn’t take the time to look at the blog)

 

“It's a shame that people who ALREADY live in this manner in tribes, communities, and 'undeveloped' countries all over the world aspire to OUR ridiculous lifestyle. I would live in a treehouse no probs!”

(Very good point- why is that?)

 

“I know I couldn’t live in a place like this without beer! What do you do for that?” Environment agency fella.

(I brew most of my own beer, at the moment mostly meadowsweet. Country wines take too long to be ready)

 

“Are you wearing a beret in this picture, If I come down to the treehouse do I have to wear a beret?” George Lamb, BBC radio 6

(No George, it’s a flat cap on backwards so I can look through the scope of the gun, but by all means “if” you come down feel free to bring your own beret)

 

“You sound quite posh.” Another Irish radio DJ.

(He sounded quite Irish- the conversation didn’t go very far after that)

 

“All you need is Felicity Kendal to keep you company and it would be perfect”

(Quite- the good life was amazing; I fear I may be too young for her now.)

 

“Many birds around?”

(It being a wood I live in…yes! I am very kind I have strung up some bird feeders with pigeons and frequently watch the blue tits and great tits squabble- run the gauntlet!)

 

“How do you poo?” Girl aged 5

(Not the sort of question I would expect from a young lady…I would guess the same way we all do- on a loo.)

 

“How many times have you been up and down the ladder?”

(Too many to count-liked the originality of the question)

 

“What’s the worst thing about living in a treehouse?”

(I would probably say…convenience. Its nice to be able to turn on a tap or flick a switch for light- I often find myself walking into the treehouse and reaching for a light switch)

 

“I see you got here in a car…that’s not very self sufficient, why don’t you have a donkey or something?”

(Well, this is the 21^st century, and how else would you think I could get down here for 10am to teach you a little foraging…donkey next year perhaps?)

 

“Always stay wild and free…”

(From an American admirer of the treehouse…say no more!)

 

“Get real motherfu@£er. You are just playing. Wish we could all play but real life

Takes over for the majority of us. Only wealthy boys or the well connected can afford the time to play like this.”

(I can assure you, I am neither well connected nor wealthy! And this is my way of earning a few pennies- a book and a column. Thoughtful chap, I must say)

 

“I want ask you what do you do for drinking water? The river?”

(The environment agency wouldn’t comment on if the river water was drinkable for a sustained period- a local sewage outflow saw that off…I fill my 75 litre capacity from a tap and carry it down to the treehouse once/twice weekly)

 

“How do you charge your mobile phone?”

(For the i-phone and i-pod I use a SOLIO classic solar charger…very fancy bit of kit and well worth getting your hands on!)

 

“Do you ever get scared?”

(When you sleep with a gun under your bed and axes and machetes hanging on the wall…you feel quite safe, I can assure you. The fear of man is the worry…)

 

So there you have it, a bit of this and that. Please feel free to email me any questions or queries to: nickweston@hotmail.com and I will do my best to answer them when I get the chance.

 

Next week I will be delving into the realms of cheese making, with the local dairy at hand, they must need a bit of shit shoveling?

 

Weston…out.

 

 

The Treehouse Diaries: Blackberry Fool!

It’s been sometime since I have dedicated an entry to a single recipe…it’s been a bit treehouse filled of late. So much of the food I have had come and go through the outdoor kitchen has been truly memorable and most of it photographed for future use. But at what point does photographing every stage of an exploit detract from the fun and experience of taking part in escapade to begin with?

There are so many things down here That I want to capture, write up and tell the world so everyone can take home a little piece but sometimes there is too much (good thing I’m writing a book to put it all in to)! Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to cook a meal or do something without having to consider it for books, blogs, so on and so forth. Perhaps these are the moments the magic really happens and things move at the pace they should rather than having to wait for the sun to come out again to take that so-important shot…

If there was one lip-smackingly indulgent free food spectacular to put up for all to see…it would be this one, and I’m sure I’m not he first and won’t be the last! Trigger finger at the ready…lets wait for the clouds to part.

This month, Mother Nature has been kind enough to add blackberries to the list of consumables in my gigantic outside larder. Thanks! I had been dreaming of the fat, juicy berries for the last three months and started to get very excited when they began appearing as tiny, hard red things. 

The problem is….overload. There are just too many blackberries around to enjoy every single one, it’s great to return home with a bowl full of them but they never taste as good as when freshly plucked and eaten sparingly. A blackberry fool breaks all the rules, it’s messy, rich and uses plenty of extra thick double cream: real sinful stuff.

On the premise of producing this recipe I treated myself to a tub of said cream…lack of refrigerator meant it would have to be consumed in one fell swoop…which it was.

The last few weeks have been full of its ups and downs, the Ashes to be exact. The fool construction took place on the very same day I brewed another batch of meadowsweet beer and Broad nailed Australia in the final test. Brewing and eating to the banter of “Aggers & Tuffers” (what?! No Blowers!) was delightful, left hand for stirring stuff and right hand free for sups of previous homebrew- perfect? There was one flaw in the plan: wind-up radios need winding up and every time the wireless began to fade in went the aerial, down went TMS and wound I did…

Enough of cricket, on with the fool.

I went out armed with billycan to glean the brambles down by the river, I was spoilt for choice, there are something like 100 different varieties of blackberry in Britain, each one varying slightly in its quantities of bitter, sour and sweet. My picking regime is: find one you like and stick to the bush, except this is quite difficult to do when presented with a thorny, tangled mass of hedgerow. For a fool, a tart blackberry is perfect, as sugar is added to the mix.  Pick a few sweet juicy one to throw in and top off the fool.

The dictionary sees a fool as being: a harmlessly deranged person or one lacking in common powers of understanding. I suppose that is why the fool is called a fool…it is very simple. The only mildly technical bit is probably the sugar. Of course you can use it straight up, but I have mint in spades growing around the wood, it would have been poor form to ignore it in the light of such berry mutilating activities.

Whilst Trott was giving the Aussies what for with his bat, I was pounding fresh mint leaves and sugar in a pestle & mortar; the result is green-minted sugar…a superb addition to strawberries by the way.

Blackberry fool.

(Makes 2 or 1 big one if you’re feeling peckish)

Bear in mind, I don’t have much accuracy in terms of quantities down here…so common sense will apply here…the best I could do was do pint glass measures!

 

• 1 pint of blackberries
• 2 sprigs of mint
• ¼ pint of sugar
• Juice and zest of 1 lemon
• ½ pint of extra thick double cream

First, zest the lemon (you can squeeze the juice straight into the pan). Pound the sugar and mint leaves in a pestle and mortar until the sugar is taken on a certain shade of green.

In a pan over a fire (or hob) heat the blackberries and crush with a spoon to excrete some of their juice, add the sugar, lemon juice and zest and stir until warmed through. Put the mix aside till completely cool.

Assembly: place a few fresh berries in the bottom of a suitable vessel- I used an “old fashioned” glass, and add some of the mix and juice. Put in a good dollop of the cream and push down into the glass. Put in another layer of berries and mix and then a final layer of cream. Decorate with mint flowers/leaves and blackberries.

Eat at once. Or, if you have a fridge, put it in there for an hour and enjoy in sunny weather! A good addition is elderberries, which are all over the place at the moment.

Other foolish activities that have been afoot in the wilds of Sussex:

I saved up some eggs and smoke-pickled them with fresh horseradish and rosemary…more about that another time, they are delicious!

Mushrooming has begun in earnest- Ceps, tawny grisettes, chickens and horse mushrooms have all made and appearance so far, things can only get better.
 
Cut hand quite badly on the bow saw whilst trying to employ it as an air guitar…don’t ask.
 
Been following that English chap in Alaska on twitter- he called it a day last week. Good Effort-he had some minerals, luckily I don’t have to deal with bears, wolves or Meese (the plural of moose), only foxes shitting on the path to the throne which I fill my toes with on midnight missions to the lavoratory.

The Treehouse diaries: Coracling the SussexWaterways…

Been a while! The last week has seen all sorts of action…the coracle/ canoe trip to the coast has been the highlight and was, like most unplanned journeys, full of surprises! I have also taken on the daunting task of keeping my landlords animals alive- 6 cats, 6 chickens, 1 huge pig and a little pony. Chickens, as we all know, lay eggs (but what came first?), this has meant a new introduction to the diet and I get about 3 eggs a day for the next 3 weeks! Omelettes, scrambled eggs…pickled eggs?

This post is all about the boat trip. I was fortunate enough to have the company and photographic genius of the Hungry cyclist on this escapade, most of the photos here are his- and very good they are too!

The coracle took about 4 days to build, cover with canvas and then paint with 4 coats of bitumen paint…when the day came to test her she ticked all the boxes and passed with flying colours: Frank (or Francine- vessels must be female…) floated well, was a tad unstable- imagine taking to the water in a giant soup bowl! One thing was clear on her first outing: Francine would go nowhere fast.

 

With 3 days to complete the trip, Tom and I decided to take 2 canoes and use Francine as a trailer for all our gear, and then on wider stretches I would have a paddle in the coracle. 

As with most unchartered territory, especially rivers, a blue line on the map only shows weirs and bridges with little or no mention of other obstacles. Trees, overhanging branches the odd cow carcass and shallow runs are not ideal for paddling and towing fragile coracles…the upper reaches were riddled with plenty of inconvenient “things”. This meant unloading gear dragging, coracles and canoes up the riverbank and back in downstream…fine once in a while but to get a few in one stretch wasn’t very amusing.

The best thing about travelling through these quiet unseen stretches is getting a feeling you are somewhere else. Himalayan Balsam, Japanese knotweed and bamboo all woven with the jungalistic tangle of hop vines can give you a sense of paddling down the Mekong rather than Sussex- the steep banks give no indication as to where you are.

For the Hunter-gatherer, the time of year was spot on, lining the banks were all manner of wild goodies on offer. Fat, juicy blackberries were at arms length, sometimes closer, the brambles getting revenge for greedy feasting, both Tom and I had close encounters with thorns and by the end of the 3 days, arms and legs looked as though we had been mauled by a bag of angry cats.

Despite minor injuries, we had some good finds: not more than an hour into the trip I saw the orange smudge of a Chicken of the woods perched up in an oak tree. Further down stream we heard gunshots, the farmer was out decoying for pigeons, all we had to do was pluck the shot birds from the river as we drifted past! What luck!

 

Near the South Downs we swapped rivers and headed west from the Medway to the Cuckmere, which came out by the greatest of British seascapes- the Seven Sisters.

The first night we were woken at 5am by 3 hours of heavy downpour: hammocks, ponchos and sleeping bags all felt the force. Thankfully, by 10am, it was a beautiful day, wet things became dry and frowns were turned upside down. The second night was much more like it: we found a field by the river and after explaining our mission to the local farmer, he was happy for us to bed down for the night as long as we didn’t mind sharing the field with some moo-moos.

That evening we went for a forage for some greenery, pigeon breasts with a delightfully piquant sorrel sauce and chicken of the woods fried up with some veggies I had brought from the patch. That evening we wound up the wireless, had a few flagons of mead and drifted off promptly after the rigours of the day.

On day three we struck out for the coast, unfortunately the tides weren’t on our side… the going was good for the first few hours and then we noticed that when we weren’t paddling we began to drift upstream, that, coupled with a stiff headwind, drained the power from the arms faster than you could say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”.

 

Mind you, it wasn’t so bad stopping along the way to fill our boots with handfuls of Samphire and Sea beet. The journey ended in the afternoon at a watering hole called the Golden Galleon, a stones throw from the coast. The tide was rushing upstream at a ludicrous rate, each stroke pretty much kept us in one place! A great shame, but on the upside we nursed our aches and pains from 3 days of paddling Sussex with a few pints of Harveys- what a journey!

The coracle had taken a beating- a few small gashes from shallow rocks that had remained unseen to the naked eye, filled Francine’s belly with an inch or two of brackish water. She now rests under the treehouse after being lovingly patched up for her next adventure.

A fantastic three days of new sights and sounds, good company and laborious paddling left me exhausted and longing for a return to the trees. The bed in the treehouse never felt soooooo good and that evening I slept for a good 12 hours. 

Could I recommend building a vessel and paddling down the nearest river? Most certainly! For step-by-step plans to make a coracle from a trip to the local DIY store, click here, and for inspiration on how to make one using natural materials visit Richard J. Taylor’s (my coracle guru- thanks!) corner of the net.

Back in the branches, I will be focusing on turning the wild larder into something special for the next 2 months- bring on the Fruits & Fungi!

For more photos of the trip visit the Hungry Cyclists Flickr page.

The Treehouse diaries: Nick Weston is away...

Like A.A.Gill, I will be away this week making a dash for the coast in my new coracle: Frank. Frank, myself and the Hungry Cyclist will be making our way through the Sussex countryside and with any luck reach the coast sometime on Friday where we shall pop a cork on some elderflower champers and maybe even give Frank a dousing...

I had a bit of a recce with a friend to check out the upper reaches of the river: lots of fat blackberries for munching, sharp thorns, low branches, running aground and irate women who think they own the river and that we might be "scaring" her cows...honestly, some people! 

So, expect a full write up next week and some interesting pics. Also please have a look at the Sunday Times "Home" section this weekend to see a bit of the inside of my home in the branches. You can also reach huntergathercook with www.thetreehousediaries.com

You can also follow me on twitter: https://twitter.com/manupatree

Have a lovely week!

The Treehouse diaries: Visitors Ahoy!

The last week has been great- I have had the pleasure of talking to other people rather than myself for a change! On Friday I had a visit from a lovely pair from ZDF German TV (!) Who brought me some curry sauce, 2 bottles of red, a cake and some hobnobs- luxury! I also witnessed one of the more surreal moments of treehouse living- a man filming my loo…well, hey, shit happens (no pun intended).

The weekend came and with it, 3 friends from London and Clare. Jamie and Nicole promptly set up a tent (the treehouse isn’t THAT bad) while KP opted for a section of floor upstairs. Unfortunately they also brought the rain. KP brought me the “Badger Sett” of ales- I was feeling rather spoilt, so I baked a loaf of bread (one of my few humble offerings) for my guests in rain of biblical proportions. The Clay oven is now up to speed and can crank out a solid loaf in about an hour and a half, but flatbreads are still quicker option by a long stretch!

Nicole brought down a little something for the smoker…eggs. They were boiled for 2 minutes and then smoked in my hot smoker over a mix of tea leaves, sliced carrot, sugar and rice…strange, but incredibly tasty! 

Despite the rain we cooked outside and then retired upstairs to light the stove and talk the night away. Everyone decided my bed was the most comfortable place to sit (which it is), and slowly people fell asleep.

On Monday, I had a friend, Chuck come to stay for a couple of nights. Again he arrived bearing gifts: a bottle of 10-year-old Lagavulin and a trip to the butchers for his favourite cut- Veal Chops. I have been fantasizing about a good steak for some time and was over the moon when presented with the light flesh of some juicy veal! We had a few drams and cooked the chops over hot coals to perfection.

On the second night we popped out with the gun to try to bag a rabbit for supper as well as a few mushrooms. We stopped in at the patch where I picked some runner beans, of which I have many…so many I have begun to pickle them. I also grabbed some spinach and dug up a few more potatoes. Chuck was clearly no stranger to a shotgun and we had protein for the pot within half an hour. I thoroughly enjoyed serving up yet another foraged/home-grown meal- plucked from a field nearby an hour before consumption. I think in terms of food miles, I am certainly winning!

Chuck had turned up during coracle building week and was a great help in terms of design and construction. In a weeks time I set off on an epic voyage from fresh water to salt water, descending the mighty Medway is going to be a challenge, especially as I am still making the boat…

I would just like to say a big thank you to all my recent visitors for their kind offerings and above all…their company. Treehouse life, although idyllic, can be quite lonesome- playing the host can be stressful, but certainly not for me! The last week has seen my diet take a radical u-turn; I have had normal things to snack on, which has been a super break from the norm. I think the highlight for me was Tuesday morning’s breakfast when I ate the Watermelon given to me by Al Humphries last week…I mean, how often do you get to cut a watermelon open with a machete?

I would just like to add: I now have www.thetreehousediaries.com, which will direct straight to this blog and of course you can follow me on twitter from the good old iphone- http://twitter.com/manupatree. Peas!

Mushrooms, The Media and a Man bearing gifts...

It’s been rather a strange week. Tuesday began like any other day, except a bit earlier- I was off to teach Foraging on the South downs, so after making a fire and heating up water for a shower I went on my merry way. I was aware that an article on my treehouse life had been written and was due to be published in the Evening Standard later that day- by 10am the phone wouldn’t stop ringing with allsorts of media types getting “on it”.

 After teaching I had to race home to meet a BBC crew so they could film a bit of my treehouse life and then do a live feed. Sattelite trucks, cars, vans and cables where waiting for me when I returned- what was this! It was great fun having them down and explain what and why I was doing this, but most of all seeing how the news is made and brought to us and the ridiculous deadline they have to edit, set up etc! Following the Standard was the London Paper, London Lite, BBC Radio Kent, ITV meridian and most amusing of all the Mail online which with incredible accuracy and attention to detail, penned me as a “city highflyer” and a “Businessman”- Quite frankly the only business I have ever done has been in the confines of a bathroom, but anyway….

If you would like to see the BBC news video of their visit to the treehouse and get a better idea of my crib- please click here.

 In the midst of the media frenzy surrounding the treehouse, Alistair Humphreys, an adventurer/ writer, came down to stay for a couple of days. As ever, when people come to stay I like to ask them to bring me something of use, absolutely anything really. Alistair, who spent 4 ½ years cycling around the world (how many people can say that!), was only too clued up on the comforts needed in a situation like mine. He came bearing some fantastic gifts- a couple of books, a watermelon, some ground coffee and best of all a stovetop espresso maker! Amazing!

We had plenty of fine food on offer and yesterday evening we had some hot smoked eels, potatoes and beans from the garden and some very fine Field mushrooms that have been popping up with all the rain we’ve been having. The evening was spent chatting through various escapades and the ins and outs of how to write a book. I am quite lucky to have to fine mentors as I embark on my first book, Al and Tom (aka The Hungry Cyclist).

This morning I had to wake up for a call from BBC Radio Sussex for an on-air chat…an interesting experience, especially when the enthusiastic DJ asked me:

“Nick, Just for all our listeners out there who are on their way to work or sitting in an office, could you them paint a picture of what you can see around you….”

This being the woods and mobile reception not being of the upmost quality, the next thing I heard was a familiar “BEEP BEEP” of my phone cutting out. I don’t know what happened after that, I don’t have a radio!

For lunch we had an unsuccessful wander with the gun and then settled upon fish for lunch. We hauled out half a dozen perch from the river, I went through the laborious process of scaling and filleting the fish and Al busied himself sawing lots of wood- I must say my Job list shrinks and things become a lot easier when there is another person about.

I was overjoyed to come across a patch of Fairy ring champignons on our return to the treehouse, apparently they are very common, but other than a paper bagful from borough market, I’ve never had the good fortune to come across them in the wild. I am certainly not an authority on Mushrooms- far from it, but a good way of identifying them according to my sources is the smell of bitter almonds- a whiff of the hydrogen cyanide found within…they MUST be cooked. They were and along with the perch, we had a jolly good lunch!

This week has been fun, media interest is so short lived, its worth getting involved when it comes along, I’ve met some new people and seen some funny things.

I must be off home, my coracle building plans were interrupted this week, So I have to be getting on- the boat trip commences on the 12^th- fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…yo-ho-ho indeed.

 

The Treehouse diaries: Of Marrows & Meadowsweet…

Well, Scotland was grand, but I have returned with an absurd enthusiasm and I find myself trying to do everything at once…not possible! On the first day back down I went out to secure some protein for a slap up supper chez treehouse. Carrying an air rifle the size of this one makes me feel like I should be out sniping the Taliban or knocking flat Charlie in the dense Vietnamese jungle…so naturally to achieve such a look (and for practicality actually- you can’t look through a scope with a flat cap forwards!) I had to go all Samuel L. Jackson with the headgear. After creeping along the hedgerow, I had a nice fat rabbit in the bag for supper and my rabbit skin rug would cover a little more floor space.

To cure the pelts, I have adopted a standard technique of NOT scraping off the fat from the pelt, pinning it to a board with nails, coating liberally with salt and sitting it in mosquito net for a few days undercover. The result is a good stiff skin- perfect for a rug. I did one about a month ago that got wet and attacked by flies- it went a bit rank, so I did learn a valuable lesson- don't leave it out in the rain!

When I returned from 5 days away on my educational break, I checked in with my landlord’s who, in return for looking after their 500lb pig ‘bangers’ when they head north, had kindly watered the patch in my absence. Apparently there was so much rain; they didn’t have to a lot. All I was told is that there was more weed than a Jamaican cannabis factory; my plan of being a lazy gardener obviously wasn’t going to happen.

As I walked up to the patch, it looked so out of control that I could barely see the round, crisp balls of iceberg. Some serious weeding was in order…immediately. Although I try my best not to procrastinate, sometimes procrastination in itself can be a wonderful thing: the freedom of turning your back on the problem in hand, shrugging and saying “Fuck it” is priceless.  Tomorrow it is…or the day after.

On the upside, I had an enormous glut of runner beans, plenty for eating and even more for pickling. I picked my first one and bit in to it with a satisfying crunch and marvelled at the incredible sweetness of it, a versatile addition to the garden indeed. In my absence the courgettes had gone a little haywire and turned into marrows the size of Arnie’s forearm.

“What the hell am I going to do with these?” I said out loud, then took the cursory look around to ensure I was alone and hadn’t just been caught chatting to myself…as I have mentioned before, in much the same way as playing air guitar with a stick, it’s fine if you’re on your own.

Weirdly enough the answer came to me quite quickly, in the same way I had hollowed out a pumpkin and filled it with Gruyere and cream in a past post (stuffing big vegetables is great fun), I could put fish, veg and stock in it and bake it in the embers…or meat, fish? No, meat. Maybe fish? Yes…meat.

When I got back from the patch I had quite an epic spread of green stuff, enough to really excite any evangelical vegetarian, but for a corpse-cruncher like me, the picture wasn’t complete. Just before the rain came, I did my “sniping” instead of fishing- after a week of smoked salmon and eel, I was feeling a tad fished out.  After peeling the rabbit and curing the pelt, I took all the meat off the bone, kept the liver and threw away the kidneys. Now I’m a big fan of offal but where kidneys are concerned I don’t care what anyone says, they taste of piss.

 

I made an enormous fire using the finest oak available to humanity and let it burn down to top quality embers. Once the fire was going I got to work on the mutant courgette: The top was sliced off and the base was hollowed out and seasoned well, this might work!

 

The rabbit was browned off in a pan over the fire and set aside to cool while I put some potatoes (cubed) on to boil. I chopped up some spinach and put it in the base of the hollowed out marrow, followed by some chopped runner beans, w.garlic and hop shoots. The rabbit and all the juices were poured in along with a half a stock cube and some water (at this point a glass of white wine in both me and the marrow would really have made the dish).

Down here tinfoil isn’t the kind of thing that grows on trees, Burdock leaves are the treehouse dweller’s best wrapping tool, It has a vast skill set: from clutching slimy eels to wiping a backside, and even wrapping food to place on the embers of a fire.

40 minutes after firmly placing my packaged supper onto the embers and building a little nest around it, I went to inspect. It was done…perhaps overdone?

As I removed what was left of the wrapping and gingerly removed the lid, my nostrils were hit with a mix of mouth-watering aromas. The contents of the marrow and most of the flesh were ladled onto my waiting plate and eaten without delay…one hell of a supper! I cant help but think that it was really a dish for 2 people, but I ate it all anyway and felt incredibly fat and lethargic afterwards…that’s why hammocks were invented.

Meadowsweet…oh meadowsweet. Now that the elderflower has gone and the cordial I made from it also about to go the same way, I decided to apply the same non-exact science used to make elderflower drinkable to the somewhat similar sweet, fragrant flowers of meadowsweet- now in full swing.

I often have meadowsweet knocking about the treehouse, for both its pleasant aroma and its use as a good herbal tea (see British Bush Tea post). Meadowsweet comes from its old school name “mead sweet” which refers to it’s past as a sweetening agent in mead production. It is also very useful medicinally; it is a remedy for upset stomach, heartburn, headache or used as a mild painkiller. The latter is due to the plants high levels of Salicylic acid- a principle ingredient found in Aspirin. So, if I could turn the flowers into cordial, it would be a lot healthier than a dose of Ribena and replenish my dwindling elderflower stocks.

Meadowsweet Cordial:

Makes 2 bottles.

Oddly enough, as the name suggests, found in meadows! Although your best bet is down by rivers and streams, the white “candyfloss” heads will stick out like a sore thumb.

• 200g Meadowsweet flower heads (about half a carrier bag)
• 700g Granulated Sugar
• 50g Citric acid (available at any brew shop- if not add more lemon juice, the cordial wont keep for long though)
• 2.5 litres Water
• Juice of 2 Lemons   

Bring the water to the boil in a saucepan and add the flower heads, stir gently and remove from the heat. Add the lemon juice, stir and allow to infuse for an hour.

Strain through muslin, bring the strained liquid to the boil once again, add sugar and stir until dissolved, remove from the heat and add the citric acid. Allow to cool and then bottle up.

Best served with ice on a blistering hot day! To my knowledge this isn’t something you can buy…so do give it a go, I think I prefer it to elderflower; Maybe I could make some booze with it? Watch this space…

Its good to be back at home in the woods after being north of the border, everything seems new again and fresh… like a new bag of newness, fresh from the factory where they make new things.

Anyway, I would love to stay and ramble on, but It is 1am, I must get back to the treehouse and get some shuteye before getting up early to go and teach foraging on the South downs, then its off to Cuckmere haven to try and get a bass supper, some seaweed, samphire and whatever else is up for grabs.

Night night.

 

 

The Treehouse diaries: In Print, Perch and outwitting Pigeons.

(Giving it some "blue steel" in the living room...)

This week brought the rain. It was inevitable, a good stretch of close, hazy summer days was bound to end with a bang. That bang began with the pitter-patter of raindrops on my tin roof as I sat by the stove updating my diary. A flash followed by a low rumble and the drumming began, I had felt rather cosy in my dry arboreal dwelling, the corrugated iron roof was holding up well to the downpour. Iron roof…big tree tall tree running through house…lightening! Shit!

Despite putting on the thickest rubber soled shoes I had on (reef shoes) and going to sit under the treehouse while the storm passed and count the seconds between flashing and rumbling, I was in the middle of a wood with plenty of other trees. Perhaps more desirable, isolated objects would be better targets?

The weather has become fickle, this means thinking ahead, plenty of pimps and faggots (yes, yes stop laughing, they are bundles of differently graded birch for burning) to stock up on, hammocks to be put away and more cooking inside. My food prep has become more sophisticated, less time spent rambling, hunting and fishing, things like bread, pickles and pesto (from nettles and an overabundance of rocket in the garden) have been top of the agenda.

(Collecting Faggots in the birch wood...) 

Last week, I was thrilled to see “The Treehouse Diaries” In print for the first time! My column for Reader’s Digest has begun and will be running for the next 6 months- a slightly condensed account of how life is going down here.

This week I have been targeting the P’s, Pigeons and Perch. Perch have long been a favourite of mine, for both the table and their general appearance. They are the Jackals of the waterways, fierce little buggers with an appetite to match, when on the prowl in packs up go the spiky dorsal fins and woe betide and small fry in the viscinity. Their white, meaty flesh is fantastic and the best comparison would be bass. You would hard pressed to find them in a fishmongers…even Billingsgate, If you want to try it, you must get a fshing rod and some spinning gear. I did a post some time ago (see here) with a superb recipe for “filet du perche”, a Lake Geneva classic and exactly what happens to any I get my grubby little mitts on.

Pigeons have become my absolute nemesis down here. Their constant coo-ing and careless presence (whenever I am unarmed), has been getting to me. Pigeon is the tastiest of all wild meats and unfortunately, my skill with a gun does not match my abilities with a rod and line.

The Ojibwa birdpoles I made have still not bagged me a pigeon supper, and since the cows have moved into the field and knocked them over, I doubt they will in future. I needed to come up with a new way of trapping pigeons, hours of online searching and thumbing through piles of trapping books, led me to one conclusion: the gun is the most effective way…with decoys, which I don’t have!

Having found plenty of chicken/ garden wire on the fences at my mother’s house, used to stop her old cat Gizmo escaping, I went and ripped it down, determined to put it to good use. If my memory serves me correctly, I made a very cunning trap during my time shipwrecked in the Cook Islands- The Hawk Island No. 2 was not quite the Havahart No.9 but equally effective in the capture of chicken. If it can catch a chicken, it could, maybe, catch a pigeon…

This time, I had a lot more tools and fixings to put togther the same trap…and didn’t have to spend days building a cage with twigs and string (a relief to say the least…). Using a hammer and nails, some hazel and my staple gun from my set design days, I knocked together a new, updated version of the Hawk island No.2: The Treehouse No.1, I just hope it works as well!

The clever thing about this trap lies in its self-setting simplicity. The cage is held up by two notched sticks that rest on top of one another, around this is looped some fishing line that is attached to two stakes at the back end of the trap. Once baited, the greedy bird walks into the trap intent on a good feed, hits the fishing line which then pulls out the sticks and drops the cage…very clever!

Well that’s all for now, I have a few more to build and some serious baiting up to get on with. All this talk of pigeon is making me hungry…perhaps I will have a quick wander with the gun just in case.

The Treehouse Diaries: Burnt Bread, Fish, Showers and a Bench…

It has been sweltering this week, my feet have forgotten what socks are (and shoes for that matter) and I have been wearing the same shorts all week, I certainly didn’t expect to revert to my Cook Island Lifestyle in this country!  Of course this weather has meant I have been able to get up close and personal with the river, both in terms of swimming, fishing and exploring.

The river has been furnishing my table well, As we have been approaching a full moon, I have been setting nightlines like a man possessed, as a result, plenty of eels now swim freely in my “freshwater fridge”: a large net in a secluded pool downstream. Having a good stock of fish readily available has meant less time on the hunt and more time enjoying life down here and coming up with crackpot schemes and bizarre plans for the months ahead, not to mention a little hammock time…

The other morning, I sauntered through the wood in barefoot elegance to go and check the lines. With a visit from my Editor the following day, I was eager to impress and was trying to work out what would be the best menu for lunch. After finding I had a few eels squirming at the ends of three lines, I went to lift the fourth and final- the water exploded and I found myself staring at a glorious 3lb Brown Trout thrashing about insanely. This was a fish I didn’t want to lose...nothing left but to go into the drink, hauling him out could result in breakage! Instead of using the towel to dry myself after, it too went in as a makeshift landing net and something to wrap the fish in whilst I stumbled downriver to the “fridge”. All went well other than gashing my shin on a submerged metal ‘thing’…much swearing, blood and plenty of sweat.

I was able to serve up Salad from the garden and stuck the trout in the hot smoker…damn fine nosh! 

On the subject of food, I have been digging up my first early Potatoes…I have more than I know what to do with! That goes for Salad and spinach too, and the runner beans are about to kick in! Fortunately the overflow from the ‘patch’ is gently trickling into my Mothers kitchen…not all is wasted.

 

I know ‘tis not the season and no doubt some people may not be so pleased but man cannot live on bread alone. If a pheasant is foolish enough to come in range whilst I am out with the gun, I am not one to pass up the chance to enjoy a little ultimate free-range birdage (pigeon is always top of the list). Every now and then, I get an urge for a chicken burger, often after an evening of over indulgence at one of London’s many watering holes. Not that I was inebriated, I just fancied something a bit “filthy”, a gamey KFC if you like.

I used half of my Sourdough starter to make some pittas in my big heavy skillet, chopped and dressed some salad from the patch and used the dregs of some garlic mayonnaise left by one of my recent guests. The pheasant breasts were chopped, washed and rolled in seasoned flower and shallow fried until golden brown. Below is the layout I had for my fast-food supper, although ‘fast’ doesn’t come into it- you don’t have to pluck and gut your meal prior to tucking into an Unlucky Fried Kitten.

NB. Notice the added moth on the pitta…extra protein!

I am obliged to use every last bit of every thing that is the result of a successful hunt (I have not yet found a use for pigeon feet- but I am sure I will!), without the luxury of a fridge, I have resorted to sticking the carcass and leftovers (tatties, rice etc.) in a billy can with some water, half a stock cube, a few wild garlic bulbs and a some herbs from my hanging baskets. I give it an hour of simmering before bed and the same the following lunchtime adding a few dried jew’s ear mushrooms. The result is always pleasing and takes minimum effort- something of a rarity in this alternative lifestyle.

Now, I have been lucky in many of my endeavours down here, things have come good many a time, first time around, but it was inevitable that a colossal balls up was just around the corner. That balls up reared it’s ugly head one evening when making my sourdough bread. The fierce heat of the fire melted the aluminium pickling pan I had put in the fire as a makeshift oven…not only did it melt, the bread had become a lump of charcoal…shit happens. In future sourdough and loaves can be left to a proper kitchen…flatbreads are my new best friend. 

On the subject of ovens, the clay oven is complete, Clare came down for the weekend to help me finish it and do a little decoration. I know have to wait for it to dry out and then apply a pure clay slip to all the appearing cracks, then the oven can be fired up for the first time.

In my last post, I did mention I would give you a peek at the shower…in fact other than the ‘throne’, which is filling up nicely, I have spoken little of sanitation down here. I do all my teeth brushing and shaving at the sink unit as well as my washing up…for 1. The river is a fantastic way to cool of and have a rinse, but I am not keen to wash in it with soap and pollute it in that sense, also I do not wish to smell of river.

 

The Shower is my favourite, and possibly most luxurious item I have. The shower consists of a galvanised bucket, a few small lengths of copper pipe, a gas on/off valve and a watering can rose. It delivers 2-3 minutes of heaven, depending on how much you open it. Water is heated to the desired temperature in my big pan over the fire, transferred into the bucket and hoisted into a tree. There are few things more enjoyable than stripping down to your birthday suit in the middle of a wood and having a good scrub down: I have never felt so clean and refreshed!

 

I have for some time, been keen to put together an alfresco table and bench. I thought about doing the table first but was more taken with trying to build a bench using old school tricks instead of nails or screws. I began whittling and drilling holes and hitting things with hammers instead- it actually works very well, but takes a little more time, something which I am not short of down here, so best make use of it!

I found a fallen tree with a mat of ivy detached from the tree, which was still going strong. The ivy seemed a perfect width for a bench top, so back to camp it came. As you can see, it turned out rather well…

A good place to sit and mend nightlines.

Other things to make note of: The wild raspberries by the river have come out! Although I am fighting a losing battle against the birds to get enough to even consider making 1 pot of jam…greedy bastards! 

I have some new neighbours in the field next to the wood…they fill the days and nights with strained mooo’s and their eerily human coughing. The great thing about cows is: you are never short of a willing, interested audience.

In the spirit of this whole Crusoesque enterprise, I felt something was missing, why does no-one smoke a pipe anymore? My Father used to smoke a pipe regularly, especially when fishing and tutoring me in the ways of righteousness when in came to flicking a fly line…the memory still remains of that sweet smell of pipe smoke, so I felt it was time to go a little Samwise Gamgee and dig out a fine old churchwarden to enjoy the odd smoke when I stuck my small hobbit feet up at the end of the day…and actually it is quite pleasant!

As I have mentioned, this whole adventure is to be published next May, therefore a diary has to be written and this is usually how it is done:

The rest of my time down here is continuing at a slow but measured pace, as always, fuel and food are always needed so there is never a time that nothing needs doing. Everything takes longer down here than it would in a modern day dwelling, I find myself blissfully unaware of what is going on in the real world. Took me three days to find out the man that wrote ‘Billy jean’ had passed on…here’s a “shamone” for you MJ, you legend! I have come to realise, obviously, that what I am doing is nothing new: humans have been living like this for thousands of years….what I can’t seem to work out is why we, in the 21^st century, seem to get such a thrill out of going back to this primitive, basic way of life…when I figure it out, I will let you know…

The Treehouse Diaries: Solstice, Stonehenge and fooling about with ovens…

Summer solstice was an important date back in the day. Not only was it a chance for old men in white robes with impressive grey beards to feel uber important for the day, but it was also a sign that summer had truly begun…and by my count it certainly has! The weather has been delightful, making treehouse living, perhaps, the only way to live.

Rather than battle the 36,500 strong crowd down in Somerset this year, I decided to bring Stonehenge to me. A little difficult perhaps, but then who needs the crusty hippies, men in white cloaks and drunken revellers finishing up their Saturday night bender stumbling around our greatest landmark…no, no this was to be a much more civilised affair.

A few friends, a few bottles and a couple of shoulders of lamb (found in a hedge…) in an underground oven were perfect to mark the occasion, despite not having any photos of the finished product (got a bit carried away in revelry of my own design), have a look at one I did before with The Hungry Cyclist. I didn’t make the early rise to catch the first rays of sun, I had a good lie in instead- somewhat of a rarity these days…and It was cloudy anyway…even at the real Stonehenge.

On the subject of ovens, I have been spending a fair bit of time trying to come up with something I can use with minimum effort whenever I choose, rather than doing an underground oven with hot rocks (cunningly acquired from a nearby railway line) or having to surround an old pickling pan with embers to bake a loaf of bread. I want something that is…of the earth, something that will roast a pheasant, do a 'wild' pizza and generally have that awesome Mediterranean look about it, that simply screams- this country is hot (perhaps not in our case).

So I have decided to put aside the underground oven and build an over ground one in its place. An interesting by-product of the underground oven was the good batch of top notch charcoal I would have left over after a burn…oh well, freshly baked bread is much more important.

Building a clay oven is not as straightforward as I thought. Dig up clay, mould and shape into a dome= Clay oven. Apparently you have to add temper (often sand) and straw/hay for a extra bindage. My wood has plenty of clay; I found out the hard way when digging the long drop, and saw firsthand how impermeable it was when the shitter filled with water…not too nice.

I did notice that the clay underneath the fire pit had been baked hard and turned that pleasant red-brick colour, no doubt this was how our ancestors first came across the notion of pottery with an awful lot of head and ball scratching. 

So, with a similar realisation as was had many a year ago (and very little scratching) I consulted my book of country crafts to examine the finer points of making clay (Jack Hill, I take my hat off to you). They have, of late, been cutting hay in the fields, so I was able to get a good haul for binding the clay. The sand and bricks were a product of “fly-tipping” and I managed to get plenty of bricks for the flooring. I had to build a dome out of hazel and then cover it in clay- not too much work but, when you have to allow for mixing, drying and cracking, it becomes a whole new ball game. 

 

Another discovery was that rabbits, other than providing my table with meat, were also under my employment in providing me with clay, other than using the clay from the spoil heap by the long drop (which needed pounding till it was fine and ready to add water) rabbit spoil from their burrowing was already fine and already dug…genius!

I am still building the oven at the moment, just begun on the claying the dome- clay making is a filthy business- literally. When I bake my first loaf in it, you will be the first to know!

So, what other Treehouse shenanigans have been going on this week?  Firstly, It must be said:  Anova, the publishers, have decided that my little project would make a fine publication! Success! At last! So I can’t give too much of the game away here as there wouldn’t be much point in buying my book! Last weekend saw many elderflower champagne corks flying through the air…or to be honest… being unscrewed.

I have set myself plenty of homework, other than the diary, where I have to bring back a wild plant I don’t know and identify, take notes etc. looks a little something like this-

I have spent a bit of time working on my trapping, all is going well at the river and I have had quite a few eels. The air rifle has been pulling its weight and my rabbit carpet is slowly coming to fruition as long as I have the salt to cure the skins! I have recently made some Ojibwa Bird poles, which I touched upon in my trapping post some time ago. They are yet to prove as effective as the gun! Watch this space…

I had my first courgettes from the patch last night along with roast, spatchcock pigeon and some of my first ‘early potatoes’, my thrift has become so good that last nights meal was put in a Billy can with some stock and water and made an outstanding broth for lunch today.

The hop shoots are in full flourish and many have ended up on the plate…I am shocked at just how many hops line our hedgerows that I had never noticed before…so I decided to try to pickle some before I use them for my beer.

With regards to bread- always on the breakfast menu- I have begun my first sourdough starter….one, which I would like to preserve for as long as possible so I can eat ‘treehouse’ loaves for the next few years, without the use of a fridge, may be difficult.

On the whole, life down here is great, wholesome and tough…I think we have all become a little too soft in this day and age, a little graft to obtain the basics is a wonderful thing- I can know start a fire and boil a full kettle in 15 minutes flat! Despite being dirty most of the time (my shower will be posted next time), Things have come together at last and there is very little I want for.  Books are my entertainment, sticks make a handy air guitar and talking to yourself is fine…as long as you are alone!

The Treehouse diaries: Time for the River to Deliver…

A glorious thing began today…the start of a new fishing season! Time to put aside all the poorer days of angling (why is it called angling?!) by the river bank last year and dream of pulling out lunkers and battling with beasts in the year to come. Although this year, I am going to have to rely on luck by the riverbank more than ever…a man has to eat.

An important factor to keep in mind when relying on my little stretch of river to provide me with food, is to use it sparingly. Fish stocks and sustainability are tremendously important and I must not get too greedy or take more than I need-after last nights escapades, it seems the eel could be at the top of the hit list.

It was a complete surprise to me that I managed to leave the rod and line well alone for the entire closed season (even though I could have gone and fished at a lake somewhere), but I had a house to build…as you do. So, brushing the dust off the fishing gear and tying the first blood knot of the season was a total joy (insert word “geek” here somewhere).

Rudimentary cave-man fishing tools.

Last night, I left the warmth and comfort of the treehouse and wandered down to the river, nightlines in hand, ready to put in the first cast. At the stroke of midnight, in went hook, line worm and weight X4. I sat by the river in the pitch black and enjoyed a pint of my latest batch of nettle beer to see in the season and put the best part of my wild brew into the river in the hope of keeping lines tight this summer.

The following morning I woke at about 9am, the recent addition of the bed has made sleeping much easier…too easy. But it was a refreshing change and I somehow managed to shut out the ever-eager birdsong that begins around 5am. With functionality evolving everyday, I have found the speediest way to boil the kettle and have resolved to make me a small kettle fire consisting of 3 bricks, a small hole and a quick-burning pimp (pimp is the traditional name for a bundle of birch kindling, not necessarily someone who manages a bevy of young ladies and carries a stick and goblet).

 

As I was keener than a pikey in front of an unlocked jewellery shop, I quaffed down my morning brew of meadowsweet and mint and made a beeline to the river to see if the drizzle of nettle beer had improved my chances. As I have mentioned in the past, few things get me as jumpy and excited than the sight of a tight nightline…gone is the saggy curl of the line from the night before and now we have the prospect of some kind of fish at the other end! 

It was amazing to pull in all the lines and discover that all four had been taken by something or other, I had two eels: one big, one small and two which must have had eels which clearly made a beeline for the nearest root system and well and truly snagged themselves…not bad for the first day of the season. Generally, you set more lines to improve your chances, my plan is to have a fish store: a long keep net which I can put all the fish worthy of the table in, until I choose to eat them- a holding pen in a river, if you like.

Once I had wrapped up my lunch in a few burdock leaves, I walked over to the patch to embark on the task of vegetable hydration. All I can say is thank @£$% I put my patch next to a stream; otherwise this simple task could have got very boring indeed. I rather enjoy watering the patch and seeing how everything is coming along; whatever is ready comes back to the treehouse. At the moment I have been mixing up the peas, spinach, lettuce and rocket with a few wild bits and pieces- bittercress, watercress, nettles and the last of the wild garlic. I can’t wait until my first courgettes are ready…counting the days!

The "Patch" coming on nicely...

Today, I had my eye on some red-veined sorrel I put in some time ago, and had been saving for this very day- the perfect citrus kick for any kind of fish. I was a little concerned for the potatoes…they didn’t look great, but I lifted a few rather prematurely. The strange thing was that it filled me with worry- the same kind of creeping concern you get if you go overdrawn or need to pay a bill…how things change!

Back at the tree, I readied the smoker and went to work on skinning and gutting the eels with the help of a hatchet, a few nails and a pair of pliers. I have been teaching a bit of foraging (to fund my treehouse building) at Safari Britain: I think I must be the only person who takes a machete, a hatchet, knife and a brace of coneys to work with them…still ‘tis better than working in the city of sin!

How to skin an eel...

It appears I have lost touch with my smoker, obviously an eel isn’t the same as a 3lb trout: still, drizzled with a finely chopped wild garlic and sorrel dressing, my first taste of “treehouse fish” was outstanding! Just need to go find a little horseradish for next time. Although good, the eel lacked a vital ingredient, catching fish in closed season for the table does add a little je ne ces’t quoi…I believe it's called crime.

Life down here is coming together slowly, there are plenty of ups and downs, as can be imagined with high rise living and having to dash “upstairs” to grab some eating irons. Building is still going, made a swish fold out table inside and have been patching up the corrugated iron around the stovepipe with exhaust pipe, “Gun Gum”- with the rains last week I got a puddle on top of the stove-not good…

So whilst the muggles have been at work, I have been busying myself with all sorts and when not being busy (a rarity), I have been sitting in my new Hammock chair Clare brought me from her recent trip to Hossegor and sticking up my small hobbit feet and reading Robinson Crusoe…this most certainly IS the way forward!

One final word, I am very lucky to have the most amazing view out of my window when I wake in the morning and I just have to share it with you all…makes a change from the brick walls of my past few years!

 

Oh yes, I am writing a column on the Treehouse diaries for Reader’s digest- first one comes out in the July Issue…

 

The Treehouse Diaries: Everything comes together…and somewhere to lay my head.

Again apologies for the lack of recipes, after all this began as a food blog but has slowly transformed into some kind of monster…and something to do with treehouses. There will be plenty of good’uns as the weeks roll on; I just need somewhere to live first.

The hardest part of this whole project is my stupid, unyielding fetish for perfection. I want lots of natural features, everything has to look just right…don’t even get me started on the functionality of the place! So, making it all come together has been no picnic, and I know that once the building finishes the furnishings (the fun bit) come next, along with the previously mentioned anality of perfection.

The walls have steadily gone up along with the windows; bits of garden shed have been broken up with a downward thrust of plank off cuts, an interesting look, but one that can’t be helped when using recycled materials. The result being a bit of a patchwork mosaic, but one that fits the integrity of the place and fits it well. Before I go all “Kevin Mcloud” on your ass, I think we should move on.

The most important thing with any dwelling, be it up in the leaves or down amongst the earth, is somewhere to lay your head. Initially I thought “yes…I’m going to make a four poster bed!” unfortunately, that dream was quashed yesterday afternoon, when I realised that my windows open upwards and a post, let alone four, would lead to serious amounts of ball-ache. Functionality Weston…functionality.

So here we have a little sequence of wall and bed making...

And now a few bed materials....

The bed took an afternoon to put together, and as I am not one for fannying about with finish (probably a remnant from my first job as a set designer), it was ready to go that evening. The bed size was determined by the mattress size…obviously. I would love to get a proper mattress, but as this project has a bit more of a camping “edge” to it an inflatable mattress seemed more appropriate. Luckily for me, Coleman don’t expect people to use their inflatable’s for permanent use…hence a 1 year guaranteed if it bursts, should only have to buy the one then and see what happens, just keep the receipt!

Last night was my first night on the bed and I can honestly say, it was one of the best sleeps I’ve ever had…I didn’t wake up till 10am! If you have slept in woods before, you would know that you often wake up as soon as the blackbird farts or the sun comes up, depending on which comes first (quite often, the latter). And for the first time I slept sans sleeping bag and only used a duvet for protection.

This is where a sly bit of treehouse/outdoor nerdery comes into play. The bed is built at exactly the same height as Bertha’s firebox, we all know hot air rises, and I am just above the cold level in the warm “thermal layer”- so cunning you could brush your teeth with it.

And now onto Bertha: She has recently met Mr. Stovepipe, but before that happened I had to take her for a bit of a makeover. It just so happens that my Godfather owns a classic car garage, and his son Rupert is well in to the family business. Rupert and I used to be good mates, School, Uni, London has taken its toll and we went our separate ways. We used to do everything from beating at the local shoot to sleeping out and building camps together, so when I bumped into him at a friends BBQ, I explained my troubles with Bertha: she needed a little Red October action…she needed to be airtight.

I popped down to the garage and Rupert came out with his welding torch to seal up the firebox. The gap was perhaps too much for TIG welding to accomplish, so after a little tacking, Rupert suggested Using Exhaust pipe sealant (goes up to 800 degrees- apparently) and promptly plugged up Bertha’ Firebox.

 Notice the corrugated iron backing for heat protection and the bucket for fire protection.

On the subject of plugging, I still had a entire front side and a door that needed fitting. Hanging a door is really a two man job, so I got two men into to do it. Chris, who came to help me with the platform and the roof and Nick, the design geek and sharp shooter who built my ladder, gladly volunteered their services in return for beer and food and a little fresh air (actually they both seemed eager to go and watch sport on TV the next day…didn’t think I smelt that bad…. yet). They were an enormous help and we got the door fitted and hung and even put a lock on it, which came with a nice big Hogwarts style key.

 

That evening we had a few drams and sat in front of Bertha as she burned away with her brand new stovepipe attached…despite having a door we hadn’t finished the wall, so unlike Bertha, no Red October.

The next day we finished the wall and sorted out the minor glitches with the door, I whittled down a piece of hazel (an off cut from a previous felling) and fashioned it into a most desirable door handle. Done.

 

Apart from the treehouse, my patch or kitchen garden as it is fast becoming, is doing quite well the runner beans are reaching for the skies and the salads and peas are giving me an awful lot to eat. Despite putting my patch in on complete virgin soil it is going slowly but working well….if only my rules allowed a bit of fertiliser! I did find something quite special the other day: A load of wild raspberries…a lot, should be good for jam to make breakfast a little more interesting!

So much has gone on and happened this week, it’s hard to know what to post…but these are, I feel the most important bits going on at the moment. I mean I might even take the “Springwatch” approach and put up a picture of two Ladybirds having a whale of a time on my hop plants…

 

The Treehouse Diaries: A roof and four walls...almost.

I must apologise for the lack of food updates of late- there has just been so much building going on I feel that must come first, once that has calmed down (give it a week or two), there will be more bits and bobs from the hedgerow than you could ever find in Huge Furry-Whippingtool’s big shaggy mane.

As I mentioned last week, I had the good fortune to have a visit from the Hungry Cyclist (to see a full account of our escapades please check out his blog). Oh, and if you wish to see how we cooked a leg of lamb in an underground oven click here.Tom was a massive help on the roofing front as well as force feeding me chicken hearts (actually no forcing was necessary- they are incredible and at £1.90/Kg, an absolute steal! Douse with a little Tabasco and lemon juice to serve). 

He also made me a fine birch broom for sweeping out the Treehouse: it looked more Hogwarts than household and I have still to give it a test flight…who knows I might make seeker this year for hufflepuff, after all I’ve got the elder wand…in your face Potter.

I have been spreading a little of my Wild food knowledge down at the incredible Safari Britain, a Glamping/Yurt experience found nestled in the South downs, plenty of gathering, and lots of skinning rabbits for a dam fine stew….

 

Whilst the muggles have been at work, the roof has been done and forgotten: it was a complete, total and utter pain in the arse of a job, but one of those things you just cant do without, such as a warm loo seat or machine that goes “Ping”. Work has moved down a level, literally, to putting up the walls.

The walls have become a mish mash of salvaged garden sheds I have found “growing” in various parts of Sussex, and other pieces of recycled wood. I must mention, since forking out for the foundation wood the purse strings have remained tightly…knotted? I like a garden shed as much as the next man, but I have no intention of recreating a giant one up a tree, so whilst many of the walls are looking “sheddish” I am aiming to break up the lines and add a few natural features in the near future.

Working on walls at ground level is one thing, but 8-10 foot up is no laughing matter, had I the foresight to put in a small balcony, then things might have been different: this is living on the edge and yes, please leave your high vis and hard hat at the door because health & safety does go out the window…

Whilst I don’t boast as many “windowsh” as your average Amsterdam dwelling, I have got 5, four of which are huge and can be clipped to the roof rafters to give the place a little airing from stove smokery, smelly treehouse people and generally add a fantastic element to life in the British rainforest canopy.

Whilst everyday is full on (roughly 8am till 8pm), treehouses don’t build themselves and although there are times I curse having to wander up to the stockpile to search for the perfect piece or carry down more corrugated iron-everything has been transported in by hand. I couldn’t think of anything else I would rather be doing. So whilst there is much work afoot today, tomorrow will be different. There are moments of intense activity and then there are the moments we all long for and savour most deeply when they come along : reflection, relaxation and reading Robinson Crusoe at 8.30am with a steaming cup of coffee whilst a wood- burning stove billows and burns in the background.

Birdsong, barbecues and ball-ache are three thinsg that sum up the last week. It’s at times like these that the words of a wise man spring to mind: “Nothing worth having ever comes easy”. If you can remember that, the rest should fall in to place…hopefully! I think the thing I enjoy most about life down here is that it is virtually timeless. Light and dark are the only parameters; things are ready when they want to be ready, not when they should….

 

The Treehouse Diaries: A Throne fit for a king and…Jeff.

The days seem weeks ago and the weeks seem months ago. Things are so hectic down here I don’t know where to begin! I have just returned from a rather damp day of teaching foraging on the South Downs after 2 nights nestled in the newly roofed treehouse. The last few days have been grand, I have had the fine company of Tom Kevill-Davies a.k.a The Hungry Cyclist, the author of a book I am reading at the moment- and a terrific one at that, check out his blog for an update on his treehouse experience- the first of many!

With work progressing at an obscene pace, it is hard to know what to tell about and when…so I thought I would update you with one of the latest developments: a rather essential piece of kit and a very important one, if I ever wish to have the girlfriend down again…

For me, there are two places that are constant providers of valuable thinking time and inspiration, quite often they appear in the same room: the shower and the shitter. Yes, coarse I know but they sound so good together. With the shower built, but unused, a toilet seemed the next logical “mini project”.

On my first visit to a demolition yard recommended by a friend, where I picked up my stovepipe, I also picked up a delightful mahogany loo seat. This would certainly be the key to the throne, all I had to do was build a suitably rustic, yet practical platform for this bum-comfy wooden ring to rest upon. I don’t know if you’ve ever been seen in a public loo with a tape measure, trying to work out the perfect height for dumping comfort or not…it was a new experience for me and was met with, literally, an open mouth stare from a random punter. Is there no end to the eccentricities of this adventure?!

It turns out between 16-18 inches is the desired height, with this in mind I began work on the finer points of making my grown up potty. The “throne” was designed to be portable, in the sense that I am living in a wood with hard clay and sandstone a few feet underfoot. So I am guessing (taking into consideration amount of food consumed weekly) I will have to move it every two weeks. By placing it over a 3ft hole, I should be able to keep smell and sanitation under wraps using sawdust from a local workshop and ash from my stove.

It was another good distraction from the growing monotony of roof building to construct this masterpiece. Yet again, Hazel proved to be the most useful and versatile addition in this build. A little twine was used to finish the backrest and I even managed to incorporate a position for loo roll, all I need now is a magazine rack to stuff with copies of National Geographic and Private Eye (why is it consistently found in facilities across the country?).

With the “Throne” positioned amongst an impenetrable barrier of holly it is safe, perhaps not from a wandering eye, so a screen may have to be erected to ensure a little privacy, be it from Black birds, the odd chaffinch (of which I witnessed two copulating whilst sitting a top my wooden woo machine- that was a first!) or the pheasants that wander about the place.

Speaking of which, the mention of Jeff in the title has not been covered yet. I have found that being 8-9ft up a tree, gives those on terra firma a few more minerals than if you were hanging about at ground level: the local wildlife just don’t seem to register your presence. Enter Jeff the Longtail. Longtail is the age-old name given to cock pheasants by poachers back in the day, and I can think of no finer example than Jeff. He is the alpha male cock of my wood (please excuse all the phallic reference). I have witnessed his spurs in action warding off other males invading his territory and it has become clear that he is not one to be messed with.

It appears I may have a “pet” on my hands, I have been throwing him the odd scrap that I can spare and he keeps coming back for more. Whether or not Jeff will be spared the view of the inside of my cooking pot, I have not decided yet, I suppose It will depend on how hungry I get: In which case he will certainly get to check out the throne!

Next time, a few stories from the man who turned up on a bicycle and helped me make an underground oven, and a delve into the secret art of corrugated iron roofing…

The Treehouse Diaries: Finished platform and something to lean on...

This week I have mostly been…wet. A little rain cannot dampen the spirits when embarking on an adventure like this, every hour or so when I’m cursing a drill bit flying into my finger or knocking the funny bone in the elbow so hard that the entire forearm goes numb, I do give myself a reality check: what else would I rather be doing? London seems a million miles away…

Note the precarious situations facing the platform builder:

This is just a very quick update to show you how far things have come along this week. I have had the pleasure of doing a giant jigsaw puzzle: the joy of recycling wood began to wear thin midweek and I contemplated visiting the local timber merchants for fresh 8’x4’ sheets of ply. At a cost of £20 per sheet, I realised the wood I had cost little more than a bit of extra work.

The platform went down in about 2 days, I could finally walk around my new digs and pretend where everything might go (cue extravagant gestures of ‘this will go here…and that there’). I have also noticed just how often I find myself talking out loud…to myself, I understand this is fairly common…I hope, but surely you are the person you have most in common with, so your bound to get on well with yourself, right?

Madness aside, I also jumped the gun once again and started building something that I would deem sort of unnecessary for the time being, actually, I felt that handrails were quite important and I’m sure you would agree!

 

The handrails I had in mind were not your bog standard design, being front of house and the first thing you see, they had to give an inkling of how the rest of the treehouse would turn out if given the attention it deserved. My Host tree is a damn fine example of the English Oak and I felt it only right to pay homage to that: scattered across the woodland floor were plenty of fallen oak limbs that I usually fed to Bertha, I decided to see if what I considered fuel, could be transformed into something quite different.

The limbs had reached an age where moss and lichen had well and truly made itself at home. To be able to whittle and sand these seemingly dead, yet rock solid limbs into something beautiful, reborn and recycled, would fit in with the flavour of the treehouse diaries. Sure enough after a bit of work, I had some gnarled and Y- shaped pieces of oak that was a bit like driftwood…see for yourself! As much as it pains me to say it, the concept was a little hippy- give dead wood new life. I think I’m spending too much time alone…

Looks more Amazon Jungle than Sussex woodland!

On the food front, never being one to pass up on a little free nosh, I couldn’t believe my luck when I came across a glut of roadkill the other day. If I had some sort of vehicle or a saw/knife on me then I could have dined on some venison later that night…so I learnt an invaluable lesson instead: chance doesn’t favour the unprepared mind.

 

The Treehouse diaries: Busy, busy, busy….Knackered!

I always knew this project was going to be hard work, it now seems I drastically underestimated just how much! But, I’m truly loving every minute, even manhandling misshapen bits of 18mm ply down to the treehouse is a gleeful experience, I think if everyone’s front door to the workplace looked like mine lined with row upon row of bluebells (see above), then moods would be at a constant high.

Despite having my hands torn to shreds and beginning to look like I’ve had acupuncture from Sweeney Todd, Things are moving at a smooth, unfaltering pace. I have had a few mishaps: I am starting to concentrate more on furnishings rather than the house itself (lets face it, decking out a crib with some fly gear is always top of the list…shizzle?). A week ago I decided it was time to build one of the most practical pieces needed for any Treehouse- the Ladder.

Nick- my game dealer/super sharp shooter, came down to put his design skills to the test on some fine Sussex wood (I had high hopes- when he’s not shooting birds for me, he works for the best product design company in the country). With hammer, chisel and saw, we laboured away the afternoon building a rustically wonky ladder from bits of hazel and ash that I had felled already. The idea is to use absolutely every last bit of wood that has come down by my hand, and it appears to be working quite well.

Whilst trying to distract myself from the actual built, I felt it vitally important to have some kind of kitchen/sanitation unit. On my first nose about the wood back in winter, I came across an old dump and one of my greatest finds to date: An enamel sink unit. I recognised it’s potential immediately and looked forward to the day I could wash my dishes and brush my teeth in front of it- not sure whether it is a he or a she yet…a sex and a name will eventually come!

 

Gathering a few fresh pieces of hazel and other various offcuts, I spent a day building a unit to hold the sink. Working with unseasoned , fresh roundwood is no easy task, but steadily my notching, cutting and understanding of this way of working is slowly coming to fruition. As you can see in the picture below! I still have room for a mirror, all me pots and pans and other random utensils. I did find a perfect pair of antlers and I am toying with the idea of putting them at each end…but how far can you go before things start to resemble a redneck back yard?

The flooring of the treehouse IS the main priority at the moment, reluctantly (and because I’m getting fed up of sleeping on an earth floor) I have begun to focus on this at last. Of course, I have been getting on with it, most of the local building sites have witnessed a young man digging through their skips or a wood smoke infused individual begging for any 18mm off cuts. I have even been referred to as a “Pikey” on more than one occasion! The cheek! But if the wood is being recycled and being put to good use, I am content with being called whatever cockney wit is thrown my way…the wood doesn’t cost a penny! Having to fit all these offcuts together is just like doing one giant jigsaw puzzle, 8 foot off the ground...

Between running wood down to the treehouse and cutting hazel for my dodgy looking (but very sturdy) balcony, I have had the “Patch” to attend to. After meticulously digging it over, breaking up clods, guarding it against 500lb pig break-ins and planting potatoes, the patch has had its first batch of seeds and plants go in from my limited nursery growing at my mother’s house.

Last week I put in my broad beans, peas, runner beans, coriander, parsley, chives, courgettes, salads, onions (I know-v. late!) spinach and beetroot. Clare came down to give me a hand and exercised her green fingers, whilst cooing at the horses in the neighbouring field.

The other day I got very excited: a few of the seedlings had made their way to daylight, I was not so happy to see that my early potatoes might be suffering from the raw, unrotted horse poo I stupidly put in months before…losing them could be a disaster!

How have I been feeding myself? I hear you ask, well to be honest…not very well! Below is a typical result of finishing building at 7.30pm and realising it would be good to eat before dark. Reaching for the shotgun, the first animal that is legal game and tasty usually ends up in the pot. Unfortunately, the rabbits tend to time their daily breath of fresh air and stroll in the fields at exactly the same time a starving treehouse labourer does, bang, bang…bunny for supper.

At the moment there is plenty around for cooking with and a hearty rabbit stew packed with nettles, wild garlic and a few flimsy dandelion roots has a surprising ability to sate the appetite of a ravenous builder.

Other than the long hours of graft, which is making me feel more alive than ever after the confines of the nation’s capital, bertha is performing her everyday duties well and the kettle is constantly boiling to provide me with refreshing, energy restoring cups of sweet tea along with my regular infusions of meadowsweet and mint- good for the soul, the head and the belly.

 

There is one thing I am being constantly plagued with down in them there woods…bloody catapillars! The bastards are everywhere! They drop out of the trees on thin silk threads like over eager paratroopers and seem to have an intense desire for anything metal, I am counting the days until they turn in to butteflies…

On a final note, I popped up to London to go to a friends book launch, Tom Kevill-Davies (aka The Hungry Cyclist). I have been enjoying his stories of peddling the Americas in search of the perfect meal and constantly find my mouth watering at the end of every page. If you like food and have a spirit for adventure, you HAVE to get yourself a copy…a damn fine read!

After said book launch and a brief sojourn in London, I was very pleased to be back on the train to Sussex to spend Saturday night down at the treehouse for Clare’s first night under the leaves, caterpillars and things that go bump in the night…surprisingly, she thoroughly enjoyed it!

The Treehouse diaries: Up, up and away!

Its amazing what you can achieve with a saw, drill, hammer, ratchet, some ladders, a couple of people to help you out and a large dose of fine British, spring sunshine. I had not been able to take my eye of the thick black lettering, scrawled across Saturday 25^th April in my diary: PUT UP TREEHOUSE FOUNDATIONS!

For the past few months my friends and family, especially Clare, have had to endure my constant rambling banter about how I’m going to build a Treehouse and live in it for six months, without seeing any tangible evidence of me holding true to my word. I suspect there have been plenty of raised eyebrows and a lot of “yeah right!” flying about. But now, it all seems so real…so real, I am a little nervous, D-day has arrived and the dream is about to become reality.

All the preparation has gone well: going to Screwfix to pick up all the fixings (including some huge coach screws that would put Ron Jeremy to shame) and ordering 150 quid’s worth of timber. My tools were assembled and dug out of the dark recesses of the garage and the 3 batteries for my beloved 16v Makita drill charged to breaking point (a man isn’t a man unless he has a power drill).

The forecast was a tad sketchy as the weekend approached, even my I-phone changed its mind every day as to whether it would be sunny or pissing it down. Saturday morning arrived, in my excitement I woke at about 6am and drew back the curtain to reveal grey skies and endless drizzle…F$%k! When I eventually emerged an hour later there was a hint of improvement and by the time Tim and Chris turned up in the van (the workforce for the weekend), the day looked to be a good’un.

Once we had loaded a mountain of equipment, food, Bertha and beer (v.important), we drove the half hour over to the Kent/ Sussex Border and past the River Medway that was to provide so many future meals. Once we arrived at the wood we had to drag down all the gear and wood I had ordered, which had been delivered and thankfully not pilfered. After a refreshing cuppa work began at 11am.

The wood for the foundations had been cut to my desired length, actually they had been cut to the timber yards desired length, which was as close to mine as they could get, therefore to avoid having to shave a little of here and there we just went with the size that we had been given. The result would be, well…bigger.

I had drawn up a plan which roughly translated cm into feet, it wasn’t going to get me into architectural college, but it was simple enough for me to envisage the finished product and how it would go together. The first stage was to get the 17 foot 8X2 beams attached to the tree with the coach bolts. It is worth noting that putting a galvanised screw into a tree causes virtually no damage whatsoever as long as they are fitted correctly: It is very important that this project has no negative impact on the wood, please see the really rather wonderful Treehouse guide for further information.

Using dodgy stepladders, a drill, 17mm ratchet and a spirit level the first two beams went up. This was worrying, as I only had till 2pm the following day to get the foundations up and things were moving slowly. Gradually, the next two beams went up and the three of us developed a good rhythm to our work. Once the frame was put together we paused for a light lunch of pork pies, scotch eggs and a bottle of beer.

 

The frame, although level was in desperate need of some serious support, the foundations were huge, had it been a garage space: 2 cars and the rest could easily have fitted in. It was about this time that the onsite problem solving and cunning ideas sprang into action. The surrounding woodland had plenty of hazel, ash and sycamore around about the 5 inch diameter mark, the plan was to carefully select a few long, straight ones that were part of a group (ie: a little bit of coppice action), and rig them up in the 4 corners.

 

We soon realised that these uprights, provided they were long enough, could extend above the platform and be used as roof supports at a later date…clever! To the bottom of the corner posts we fitted a 2 foot long section of railway sleeper, which we buried in the ground to act as an “earth anchor”. Gradually, over the afternoon, the platform became sturdier and we got more worn out, come 7pm we had reached our goal for the day and clambered up onto the platform to survey our handiwork.

“It’s huge, much bigger than I thought it would be!” I exclaimed, daunted at the prospect of having to build a structure to fill this enormous space.

“And more rigid than a priest’s cock at choir practice…” said Chris, ever the master of the understatement and crude, politically incorrect metaphors.

Tim, meanwhile, was already cracking the tops of bottles; “A bit different to the treehouses we built as kids.” He said. I couldn’t agree more, having the use of power drills and screws compared to the rudimentary hammer and nails of our youth made all the difference.

That evening we filled our bellies with chicken, beans and potatoes (garnished with some of the local mint), and fired up Bertha for the first time. Once stripped of her virginity, Bertha performed beautifully: the heat that radiated from her and the kettle singing on the top gave me hope for the coming months.

The next morning I woke up next to the smouldering fire to the sun shining through the trees and a muntjac having a sniff around the treehouse, my slight movement to get the camera out startled the little deer and it bolted into the emerging green of spring. The morning was brisk, it was only 7am, but it clearly wasn’t summer yet: being able to see my breath wasn’t a good sign considering I had to move down here in a week!

 

Breakfast was Bertha’s time to shine: could she cope with a full English? Out came the cast iron pans and on went the beans, sausages and eggs, the bacon was just crying out to be done over the smouldering Oak logs of the fire. Again, Bertha didn’t let me down. 3 full stomachs fortified with strong coffee, set to work on the final stages of the foundations.

Today was all about putting up the two central roof supports, the posts for the front of the treehouse and fitting the flooring beams. The front 5 feet of the treehouse where destined to become a hazel floored, covered balcony and somewhere to store my logs. Unfortunately, I have yet to install any facilities in the woods: come 11am after 2 hours of graft, the coffee and greasy breakfast had done their worst. I was forced to retreat to a distant corner of the wood to perform my morning constitution! It was a stark reminder of those funny porcelain holes for squatting over that were once so common in French service stations…I needed to put in a loo sharpish!

By 2pm, the treehouse platform was complete: my target had been met! We had even used a few of the hazel, which skirted the frame for extra support and I was pleased to have a few of them actually inside the frame. The enormous platform sat comfortably around its host: the giant oak tree and nestled perfectly into the surrounding hazel too, the plan had been to make this treehouse fit around the trees, not the other way round.

I was deeply thankful for the extra two pairs of hands donated by Chris and Tim: I certainly couldn’t have done it without them! We packed up our camp, checked for any rogue litter and dragged all the gear back to the van. The weekend had been a better start to this alternative living experiment than I could ever have hoped for.

As I left the wood and gargantuan foundations of my new home for the next six months, I realised that the next time I came down here I wouldn’t be leaving. I would have my life on my back and I wouldn’t be going home to running water, electricity and central heating. I became filled with a deep sense of trepidation and yet I couldn’t wait to begin.

My mind drifted back to sitting at the bar under the palms on Little Cayman at New Years. My brother had said to me: “ This year is going to be an exciting and different one for you….”, I’m not sure whether he knew it, but I think he may have hit the nail right on the head.

 

The Treehouse diaries: Bertha comes Alive!

I hate working with metal, it’s cold and impersonal. I much prefer wood: its warm and friendly and gives off the air that it is content with being shaped when you draw a blade or saw to it. Metal on the other hand gets pissed off as soon as you go near it with a power tool,it screams out in a most aggressive way. I knew that making Bertha a reality was going to be difficult for me.

To turn a steel drum into something useful takes a lot of noise and a lot of graft. Once I had stolen Bertha away from her life as an oil skivvy, she had to be ritually cleansed. To achieve this I had to light a fire in her belly to remove all the oil from her past life. 

When I first stuck the newspaper and kindling into my future best friend, I felt content that this was the rehab that she needed to become the ultimate wood-burning stove. The paper caught fire, the wood went up and flames coughed out of the top as if they had shot out of a dragons nostril. The oil began to crackle and spit and the flames shooting out the top were getting bigger. It was at this point that I began to think: "Bugger! Something’s not right here". The sheer ferocity of the burning oil was a tad scary. It was like seeing a mini power station, screwing over the ozone in my back yard.

Eventually the flames diminished, so I kicked back with a beer in hand till the dragon calmed and eventually went out. Once Bertha had cooled, she was ready to be worked on. Out came the drill and the jigsaw and I set about a few hours of upsetting the neighbors with the grinding and screeching of not so heavy metal.

The plans I was following were disconcertingly vague, both in order and description, once I had read through the instructions from Wayne "Dubya" Robertson a few times, it all became clear. I shall not bore you with the ins and outs of stove making, but if you do wish to see the plans from the big man himself, click here.

 

The noise, the smell, the pain (mostly from small cuts on the hand from unkind metal)- was worth every drop of sweat and Bertha had come alive, she will prove a worthy ally in harsh times. Although I am still to find her some suitable stovepipe to make her complete, my wood burning stove is ready for action! I was pleased that I had taken a by-product of the destructive fossil fuel industry and with a little nip and tuck, turned it into an energy source itself. This is not just another steel barrel: She has an identity, she will make my cold nights warm, my rainy days happy and hopefully….my kettle sing!

The Treehouse diaries: The “Unit” arrives…

Another weekend in Sussex and a trip over to the Kent/Sussex border to where my Treehouse wood sits dormant ready for the intense excitement of the summer to begin. The River Medway has dropped a fair bit since I was last down and looks just as full of fish as it ever has…and the weather, I think spring has finally blessed the country with her long awaited annual appearance.

So what happened this weekend? What trinkets did I manage to acquire to help me on my quest for self-sufficiency? The “Unit” arrived. Contrary to popular belief, a “Unit” is not always the name for a ridiculously obese female, in these circumstances, the “Unit” refers to my central heating unit, my source of warmth, cooking and kettle-boiling all rolled into one.

I felt it only fair to stick on a few photos of just how good the country is looking, and even one of me putting the girlfriend to work on reinforcing the fences after the big pig broke in and wreaked havoc. I did witness some comeuppance- the big Shire horse booted her extremely hard- poor piggie!

Most people would turn a 55-gallon steel drum into a barbecue, split straight down the middle; it does make an excellent pit for feeding a hungry army of friends. The big, blue steel drum I managed to get my hands on came from a local garage.  In London, I have spent hours scanning the net and making dead end phone calls, in the hope of obtaining a barrel Back in Sussex, I passed a garage with a few oil drums hanging about outside. I decided to take my chances and see if the fellows within would exchange me one for a small consideration.

“Good morning kind sir!” said I to the proprietor.

“Alright mate? What can ah do fya?” came his gruff response.

“Well I was wondering if you’re looking to get rid of any of these barrels?”

“What you wannit for a barbecue?”

“No, I want to make a wood burning stove”

“How ya gonna do dat?”

“Well, actually, that’s really none of your business…”

Of course the last sentence would have made my chances of getting a barrel slim indeed, so being the polite chap I am, I offered him some cash, which he declined and the barrel came home with me.

You might be asking yourself how one would go about turning a steel barrel into a wood burning stove? The answer came to me from a Mr Dubya Wayne Robertson of Virginia, USA. He had written an interesting piece for The Countryside and small stock Journal about how to do it (which you can see here).

I was most impressed with his ingenious design and decided that in the spirit of my project, recycling an old steel drum would be highly beneficial. Thousands of these barrels are used every year and it would be great if they could be recycled into something a little more inventive than a barbecue pit. 

I have nicknamed the unit “Bertha” in honour of an 80’s cartoon I used to enjoy as a youth. Now, I just have to concentrate my efforts on transforming it into something that will be a central part of my existence. Perhaps I could even adapt the plans to include some form of oven…we shall see!

On another note, I finally traded in my beloved Mora Training knife for something a little more flash. The knife equivalent of going from a Skoda to a Ferrari (see below- you see what I mean), It will take me a while to harness the power of this beast. I have had to many good times with the Mora and she will remain in my employment for the time being. The People at Helle are forever in my debt for sending me something really quite special…thanks!

Looking to the next few entries, I am about to make Bresaola, which I shall report back on and hopefully some Battersea Nettle beer- watch this space…

The Tree house diaries: Building “The Patch”.

Six months living off wild food is no easy task, while planning my tree dwelling experiment; I felt it would be a good idea to take my inspiration from the transition of the Mesolithic to the Neolithic. Whilst probing the recesses of my mind for the archaeological knowledge stored away during my degree, I seemed to remember it was around 4000BC that the Neolithic kicked in, bringing with it the domestication of animals and crops.

As wonderful and diverse as the wild larder is, I felt it would need the support of a small, yet productive vegetable patch, carbohydrates for one. Burdock roots, dandelion roots and cattails are all very well, but why not have a glut of potatoes too? It would be good to have some crops to fill in the gaps where the wild foods are lacking. 

As far as animals are concerned, it would be wonderful to have some pigs and chickens, but I think that would be a step too far and a bridge I will cross later in life. Thus my meat larder will consist primarily of wild cuts, the fish, the birds and the beasts and maybe the insects too…

With the first buds beginning to break, I suddenly realised that I had to get a patch ready, so I could get my crops in the ground. With a brief panic and a realisation that this project was actually going to happen, I hopped on a train and found myself on the corner of a maize field, a stones throw from my newly acquired estate.

The “Patch” was the first task to complete, I knew how I wanted it to look, something that would reflect the design features of the tree house, a taste of the things to come if you like. Hobbiton was perhaps the inspiration for the aesthetics and I was determined to build something that was worthy of the Shire, without all the hairy-footed pointy-eared little individuals mincing about.

It only seemed right to conduct the build of the patch in the same way it would have been done back in the day: a bit of hard graft and a pot of elbow grease. The position of the patch was in on the edge of the maize field on an open patch of grass, 10ft away was a small stream lined with coppiced willow. Both the stream and the willow would be invaluable: a ready supply of water for keeping the veggies hydrated and willow for fencing: this wasn’t just coincidence!

 I have prepared vegetable gardens in the past, the last one I did involved a little digging, an awful lot of sieving out stones and not much else. Carving out a much bigger patch from this field was going to be lot harder. I began by roping off the 14’ by 20’ patch as a guideline and set to work.

Day 1.

Turfing isn’t a lot of fun and after 1 row I became acutely aware of the task that I had set myself, row after row I toiled until I was distracted by the only resident of the field: 400lbs of pork came waddling over and began rooting about the bare earth I had just excavated. ‘Bangers’ was my landlord’s pig and was enormous. At first she began working the land for me and I was pleased that I would have no need for a rotivator- bangers was turning over the soil like nobody’s business! As she began to get accustomed to her surroundings and run out of digging space, she decided to start turning up the neat edges of my would-be patch. I don’t know if you have ever tried moving a 400lb pig- I have, Its not the easiest thing to do…

As the day wore on, and after much pleading with myself to make the patch smaller, I eventually completed turfing at sundown. My arms and legs ached and I was coated in a thin layer of dirt, but I had not budged on the size I had set myself and it was starting to look like somewhere vegetables might like to live.

Day 2

Another early start and a much happier one, today would be all about wood and instead of a gardening fork, I was equipped with some string, a machete, a hatchet and a pair of snips. The willows were in need of a severe haircut and on went the I-pod and gradually, along to the wailing guitar of Mr Hendrix, fencing material began to pile up. By lunchtime the trees were bald and I was hungry, so I wandered up to the wood intent on cooking up some lamb steaks on a fire and chopping down some lengths of hazel for fence posts.

Hazel is a wonderful addition to the British countryside; there is no wood more versatile or easy to collect. You can always find the perfect size and length for whatever it is you need, I love looking from tree to tree searching out the perfect size and having that eureka moment once you lay your hands upon it.

After lunch I began the gentle art of wicker walling. Chopping the hazel posts to length, getting them in the ground and then weaving the willow in and out to build my rabbit-proof fence. I wasn’t sure if there were many rabbits about, but there was a pig, an occasional flock of sheep, deer and others that I wasn’t prepared to share my crops with. Once I had built the wall up a couple of feet, I capped off the fence with a couple of long hazel railings to keep out the larger game and fence no.1 was complete. By evening I had two walls up, a new set of aches and pains, worn down hands and an urge for bed. Slowly this place was beginning to look a bit Shire-like.

Day three.

Day three was not as pleasant as it should have been, grey skies and the odd bit of drizzle quashed my premature hopes of Spring, the wild garlic was getting fatter and the pussy willow buds were breaking- so some hope remained…

More cutting of willow and more slicing of hazel went on for most of the day and by mid-afternoon my walling skills had become legendry and all four were complete, I had even managed to put in an arched gateway during an inspired lunch break.  When I arrived at my mother’s that evening for supper, I discovered that she had a few gifts. A bucket load of early and main crop seed potatoes, a few broad bean plants, sweet peas and a selection of herbs: off to a great start! I lay down the potatoes to chit and went to bed absolutely knackered.

Day four

The final day in the country before I had to scoot back up to London to actually earn money through less-appealing employment, was a bit rushed. I began my day by ditching my rucksack within the garden walls and went off to wield the machete in the woods to gather yet more hazel for my four wigwams that would support the climbers (runner beans, peas etc). As I struggled across the field with a huge faggot of hazel lengths (yes…in the old days folk would call bundles of wood faggots), I spied a large portion of pork inside my four walls…bugger! It seemed Bangers had not exhausted my patch of tasty roots and had gone in with the intention of a light brunch at my expense. Not only had she ruined more of the neat edges with her snuffling, she had also got her chops around my water bottle and chewed it to s@%t! It was going to be a thirsty day indeed, especially after 15 minutes trying to get the pig out of the gate.

After this latest breach, I decided to put together a rudimentary gate from some hazel off cuts and then went back to the job at hand. Before I put up the wigwams, I had to prepare the soil; this involved some backbreaking clod busting and some composting. The field on the other side of the stream was peppered with small, dark piles of horse excrement. Not being one to waste some free poo, I got my poncho (which will never smell the same again) and began running around the field filling it with horse waste. Back at the patch, I heaved the big bag of dump over the stream and over the fence. Yet more soil conditioning and digging in the manure followed.

The afternoon was a little more laid back as I set to work making the wigwams. The wigwams were made from Eight 6-7 foot lengths of hazel tied together at the top and some hazel withies bound on in an ascending spiral- its all about the look.  By the time I had finished building, I had half an hour left before it was time to go and rejoin society, I spent it digging. Breaking up compact clods is hard work, especially on your own. I knew that next time I came down, it would hopefully be with a few friends (foolish ones at that) and it would be all about the digging- what fun!

 

Standing back to survey my handiwork, I was amazed at what a few days of enthusiastic hard work can achieve. The patch was truly worthy of its Middle earth status and looked as rustic as a hay bale drinking a jug of Scrumpy. I was happy with the home I had created for my vegetables; this would be a lovely place to grow. With the Day of the move a month and a bit away, I was content with my achievements and I began to imagine how my life as a tree dweller would be- walking down here on a warm summer’s evening to pick and water the vegetables, plucking a few fish straight from the river, raiding the wild larder and heading back to my deciduous home to cook up a fresh & wild feast.

This way of life is going to be hard work, which was exactly what I had expected, but I have also learnt how rewarding it can be. To be able to see what you're capable of building with your bare hands is quite something. As the saying goes: ‘nothing worth having in life ever came easy’ and I whole-heartedly agree.

I think life down here will be just perfect…

The Treehouse Diaries.

There comes a time in every young man’s life when he feels that a challenge is in order. To define ‘challenge’ I decided to have a quick peek at the dictionary to see which suited my ‘challenge’, I quite liked the first definition: a call to engage in a fight, contest or competition. No. The clear winner was: a test of one's abilities or resources in a demanding but stimulating undertaking. Perhaps it is a chance to prove my manliness if you like (ladies, I’m sure by now you have learnt to deal with our bizarre discrepancies) or at the very least bring out the true hunter-gatherer within.

Humans like to challenge themselves in many different ways; marathons, building a enormous model railway in a garden shed, building a garden shed, growing vegetables, walking from Land’s end to John O’Groats…the list is endless. But at the crux of the whole ‘challenge’ thing, the reason for challenging yourself is to gain a sense of achievement for you or on behalf of someone else. There are also the learning and experience factors to consider, so as long as doesn’t involve duelling pistols at dawn, a challenge is a good thing.

For sometime now I have been toying with notion of getting my hands on a P45 and moving to the country in pursuit of a more interesting existence. London is a wonderful place, full of culture, merriment and diversity, but city dwelling isn’t for everyone and I have come to realise that I am one of those people better suited outside of them.

The timing couldn’t be better, with a recession raping the country and the credit crunch being felt so heavily in town, a move and change in lifestyle could be just the ticket. With little interest in spending the glorious English summer in some sweaty city kitchen cooking for stockbrokers and bankers, exactly the Muppets that got us into this mess in the first place, I made a bold decision and began making plans.

So what am I doing then? Well, for starters, I have managed to secure my own wood with a river for 6 months and come May I get to move in!  In the spirit of this whole enterprise I have agreed with the landowners to pay my rent in the form of doing a little work here and there on the land. However, the real challenge lies in having to build a Tree house from recycled/reclaimed and natural materials as well as living off wild food and a small vegetable patch right through the three most productive seasons. Challenging to say the least!

 

Obviously much of the wild food content will be the same, but it will play a more serious role in my daily life. All my meat is going to be provided by Mother Nature herself, this means the river and surrounding land are going to have to be worked hard to provide me with a glut of protein, without the use of any power/ fridges etc, I am going to have to do plenty of preserving, be it smoking or otherwise.

It is extremely important to me that the treehouse doesn't impact on its surroundings too much, I want it to look as 'organic' as possible and slide into the wood effortlessly. I can design the treehouse as much as I like, but the true design process will inevitably take place throughout the build- Wattle and daub is certainly one process that is being considered and perhaps a turf roof (might have some weight issues though!).

Making my own long drop, building a boat to navigate the river and developing my skills in country crafts, many of which are slowly being forgotten, are just a few of the lifestyle changes I am going to adapt to. 

When it comes to outdoor living, I feel I can hold my own. This isn’t, I hasten to add, a project in all out survival, I am no Bear Grylls-so I won’t be spending nights in hotels chowing down on blueberry pancakes. But, I have decided to allow myself a few luxuries to make the good life even better:

• A few kitchen staples to help me make the most out of the wild larder and the patch: Flour, yeast, water, vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar and oil (perhaps rice as a staple- but we shall see…)
• A few of the latest items in sustainable gadgetry such as a wind-up torch, wind up-radio (for those long, lonely nights, when I can’t be bothered to read) and a solar powered charger to keep the phone running…I have no intention to become a hermit.
• Fishing rod and a gun- I feel that these are fairly mandatory items for the 21^st century hunter-gatherer, although there will be a certain amount of trapping going on (don’t worry, nothing illegal, I will leave the Gin traps at home).
• My girlfriend- we have been living together for 4 years now, Clare will of course pop down from London from time to time, I couldn’t expect her to give up her creature comforts for the sake of one of my foolish exploits…but she will have a pretty sweet summer house in the country.    

 

For now, preparations continue to go smoothly, I have yet to purchase my foundations (got to be top notch wood), I still have to source a 55 gallon steel drum from which to build my wood burning stove and I have a couple of months for the two Set-design companies I used work for back in the day, to build up a good pile of wood for collection.

Tomorrow I will be heading down to the site to begin digging my vegetable patch (hopefully as productive as my Clapham patch) and take a few final measurements of the trees that will form the foundation of my new home. I have been lucky enough to be blessed with a solid bunch of friends that have all offered their services in some way or another, which will be an enormous help, building a tree house isn’t a one man job!

So from the start of May, there will be a few changes here at ‘Huntergathercook’, the address (www.huntergathercook.typepad.com) will remain the same, but the blog and subject matter will become “The Tree house Diaries”: an account of my new life out on a limb, from the highs and lows, the delicious daily menus, the foraging, the methods of hunting, brewing, building the tree house, video diaries, pictures and a whole lot more!

Stay tuned for more updates…at last I may be able to use my twitter account for something useful!