Bookshelf – Living off nature’s bounty in a woodland arcadia

Woodsman By Ben Law Collins €18 WHERE have all the â€Å“crustiesâ€Â gone? Before glaciers of credit covered the land and wiped out many species that couldnâ€â„¢t adapt to the new climate, there was hardly a place in the country that didnâ€â„¢t boast a tribe of New Age travellers, crusties as they were more commonly called. These were the spawn of the hippies who sought an alternative lifestyle outside the stifling conformity of the Establishment status quo â€â€ at least the genuine hippies did. The 70s was the era of the long-haired bank clerk, dressed in suit and tie by day, but come the weekend it was into the VW Beetle to make a beeline for Doolin. Adorned in bellbottoms that could double as a shipâ€â„¢s sails and in a hairy Afghan coat, he would drop out for two days before heading back to the daily grind. But the crusties had a bit more to them, to my mind. They really did opt out. With waist-length dreadlocks and Maori tattoos covering half the face, there was no returning to the bank counter on Monday. No, they headed for the backwoods near places such as Gort, built â€Å“bendersâ€Â in the woods, and lived apart. Apart from popping into town each week to sign on, that is. You can take opting out too far. Their other distinguishing trait was they invariably had the most marvellous dogs. Hairy cross-breeds, full of character, invariably led around on the ubiquitous piece of string. One of the great urban myths of the 80s was that the dogs got dole payments as well. But like some wandering tribe, they have now vanished from our landscape. Those I occasionally spoke to were convinced they were the vanguard of a new sustainable society in which we would all abandon the decadent and wasteful urban prisons that had enslaved us, and live off the land as nature intended. Most were British, and how they ever imagined 60 million people could live off roots, berries and the odd snared rabbit always perplexed me. But at least they were considering an alternative to the vacuous cult of consumerism that eventually drove them out of a society uncomfortable with these eccentrics who could manage to live without bidets and hot tubs. Running parallel to this subculture was the back-to-the-land movement best epitomised by John Seymour and his writings on self-sufficiency. Urbanites all over Europe struggling with debt, mortgages, soulless jobs or unemployment bought into the dream of acquiring a plot of land on some remote mountainside and living the sustainable lifestyle. Remember Gerry Raffertyâ€â„¢s great hit Baker Street: â€Å“Heâ€â„¢s got this dream about buying some land, heâ€â„¢s gonna give up the booze and the one-night stands, and then heâ€â„¢ll settle down, in some quiet little town, and forget about everything...â€Â Rafferty, aided by the best sax riff in pop history, encapsulated the daydream fantasy of millions of wage slaves. Many did give it a go; few made it work. Some research carried out a few years back showed that most back-to-the-land attempts crumble within two years of the for-sale sign coming down on the croft and the naive idealists planting their first organic carrots. There is a reason why food production is a skill, usually based on inherited knowledge passed down from expert to expert, better known as farmers. Itâ€â„¢s not only hard work but risky, frustrating and incredibly specialised. But as Yeats said, â€Å“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...â€Â The idealist in me still pines for a little cottage on the edge of a lake with all my worldly needs provided by my fairytale-inspired garden. A sort of Walden Pond somewhere in Mayo. Mind you, Henry David Thoreauâ€â„¢s Walden Pond was a bit of a con, as it was located somewhere at the bottom of his garden and he could â€â€ and did â€â€ go home to his luxurious villa for his tea. But enough of the wishful thinking and cynicism and on to a man who actually walked the walk, or in this case, chopped the chop. Ben Law found himself about 30 acres of woodland 20 years ago and created the kind of life for himself that our forest-dwelling ancestors might have lived a very long time ago. Woodsman â€â€ Living in a Wood in the 21st Century is Lawâ€â„¢s account of how he makes a living and lives in his beloved arcadia, Prickly Nut Wood. Law is no hermit. Some viewers of the TV series Grand Designs may have seen the timber house he built for himself, for which he harvested his own timbers and made his own shingles, creating a lovely, distinctive home. Since then he has become something of a sought-after consultant for similar projects. But as you go through his delightful book you not only learn about natureâ€â„¢s bounties, but also about the almost lost arts of coppicing, charcoal making and harvesting woodland fare. The authorâ€â„¢s best characteristics are his passion for nature and the environment and his incredible appetite for hard work. He puts most survivalist-heads to shame. To make charcoal he first had to identify and fell suitable timber, build a kiln, and then keep watch on the process day and night. Once it was complete he had to try and sell it. I was exhausted just reading about it. To enjoy a few pints of ale in a nearby pub he whittled walking sticks to sell to customers or exchanged them for ale. As you make your way through his book, Lawâ€â„¢s ingenuity and industriousness continually amaze. In an interview with Law I recently read, he pointed out that the timber he coppiced to build his house will have renewed itself in his wood by the time the building is 30 years old. He concludes with a chapter on his vision of his locality in 2037. Some might see it as a post-apocalyptic scenario: no cars or planes following an inevitable oil crisis, people living in small, self-sufficient communities and children taught animal husbandry in school. Canal routes will by then have been reopened, the bicycle is the main mode of transport, local production, brewing included, is thriving and the only horses to be seen are working horses that can pay their way. All the polo ponies have long since been eaten. Sounds all right to me. What harm did a bit of horsemeat ever do anyone?