So few New Yorkers break ground in March. Even the crunchiest of “natural builders” seem to dislike digging trenches in a foot or two of snow. Thus the eager young neophyte must head south. A lot.
As we speak, “The Farm” in Tennessee is wrapping up a two-week course on Natural Building and Permaculture. I drove down and caught the first week, and it was one of those month-long first-week-of-college weeks. In a good way.
Ever mixed clay, sand, and straw into a building material that might outlast a country? I hadn’t either. Or carved bamboo, or dug a swale, or talked with real people who compost their own manure—and are still, apparently, human. Healhy, even.
A good week. Long days, dawn to dusk, and enough to think about for three or four flabby winters. Bet you didn’t know the first cars ran on alcohol…or the realreason for Prohibition.
Not that it was perfect. For instance, it’s just as well I missed the authentic “sweat lodge,” not being a fan of group nudity (at least, not this side of the eschaton).
But overall, it was great. Pretty much everyone was a delight to meet, build with, and learn from. The teachers and staff welcomed us all, they were still smiling after a week, and the long hair on the old guys really did look cool.
Which gives me hope. I may fail to emulate their many other achievements (say, growing my own food, building houses in Guatemala, or designing handheld radiation detectors). But I know the hair is within my powers.
Hey, any fellow course folk out there? This counts as writing. Does too! Now it’s your turn. (bill-at-billpowellisalive-dot-com)
Easter Sunday, I left before dawn for Memphis. (That’s also in Tennessee.) My sister-in-law is currently a missionary, and she happened to be there. She didn’t know I was coming. When I strolled in the room, she found out.
Ah, the cherished scream.
This is the same sister-in-law (I only have one at present) who left one night when my wife was pregnant and returned in the morning to find a baby on the bed.
Anyhow, she took me to her host family, who filled my cup till it ranneth over. I practically had to beg not to chill out for a few days and soak up more hospitality.
Feeling a bit Homeric, I journeyed farther south to Alabama and the home of (more) utter strangers. A gent and his brother have some waterfront property, and they’re building a cob house. I thought I’d help out, learn, and, if nothing else, absorb more of the lovely Southern lilt to which I’m becoming accustomed.
Well…I did help string tarps and dig out some topsoil. Yeah. For that, I got to eat their food, listen to their accent, chill at their house for a day, and chill on their land for another day. Good old “free” help.
For my part, I’m a writer, so I can use spare moments and do my own work anywhere. Sure. Even when the sun’s hot, and I’m all alone, and a gorgeous lake beckons…and murmurs…and sings…
This morning, I finally hit the road again. No more building!
But I do have a grandmother in Mississippi—and really, when am I ever going to be this close again? Come on. A mere seven hours…
So here I am. Two big surprises in one trip.
There’s some technical controversy on the point, but as far as I’m concerned, the large body of water out the front window is the Gulf of Mexico. A fitting end for a journey: a dear face from before I can remember with a lake I’ve never seen. It’s been some couple of weeks.
Man, do I miss my wife and kid.
