HUNTER-GATHERING: wild & fresh food

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!

Battersea Nettle Beer: A wild brew from the urban jungle...

To those of you following my escapades, I am supposed to be living up a tree at the moment. And that is correct…sort of! I am as we speak in a homeless limbo of my Mothers place in Sussex (where I do all my blogging) and a sleeping bag in the middle of the wood. You will be pleased to know that it is coming along very well and progress will be updated here in a few days. I did have a particularly fine pint one afternoon, while working on the Treehouse, so here is the result of my final Urban foray in London and it goes a little something like this:

On the one hand, the stinging nettle is one of Mother Nature’s greatest gifts. On the other, it is the possibly one of the most annoying, frustrating plants growing today: It is all in the eye of the beholder.

In my toddling days, I learnt to give stingers a wide berth, I also learnt that the application of a split dock leaf was more than ample treatment to combat the throbbing infliction dealt out by this fairly innocent looking plant. As I have grown I have come to appreciate this plant for all its many uses: as a vegetable, a source of twine, a weapon (especially on country walks with friends) and most recently, as an ingredient for turning water into something a little more grown up…beer.

I think in much the same way a bee-keeper learns to endure the stings of his honey makers, I have come to accept that if one is to fool about with nettles for the greater good, the odd raised bump or sting is inevitable and should be accepted with good humour.

A couple of weeks ago I hopped onto to my bike to go and give Battersea Park one final, firm forage (I am now a permanent countryside resident- nice!). This time to gather 100 nettle tops to transform into a top-notch beer. After dropping in at the bank on the Kings Road, I couldn’t help but notice an abundance of hops curling around the metal railings of one of those funny “private” mini parks dotted about plush residential areas. Without any of the neighbours noticing, I managed to rid the tangles of eager hops of all their heads, to be fried in a little butter for lunch.

I have only ever had nettle beer once before, and as much as I like the guy it pains me to say this: his version is not really to my taste. I love my ales as much as the next chap, but the Hugh’s River Cottage “Stinger” is one of the few bottles I have bought and not finished. So, clearly I was nervous about actually being able to drink any of my own batch.

Once in my favourite nettle spot at Battersea park, I donned the marigolds (yellow this time, not pink) and set to work collecting 100 nettle tops which took all of 5 minutes: a small amount of time for a 12 litre brew! I was set on following Roger Phillip’s nettle beer recipe, I had searched the internet to see if it could be bettered- even found one that involved a slice of bread!? If in doubt: follow someone of authority.

Nettle beer

• 100 nettle tops (with leaves 4-6)
• 12 litres (2 ½ gallons)
• 1 ½ kg (3lb) sugar
• 50g cream of tartar
• 15g brewers or beer yeast (available from all homebrew shops)

Once you have your nettles, give them a quick wash and place in a big pot with 12 litres of water, bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes.

Strain the liquid into another pan/bucket and discard the nettles (or make a huge batch of my Stinger Pesto - now that’s thrift!).

Bring the liquid to the boil again and add the sugar and cream of tartar, simmer and stir until dissolved.

Remove from the heat, transfer into your brewing vessel/bucket and allow to cool to blood temperature- this may take some time… then add the yeast and stir well.

There is a lot of debate about the next stage, most recipes say to cover the bucket in muslin and bottle after 24 hours…with my limited knowledge of the mysterious art of brewing, even I know this is foolish: unless you want exploding bottles in the garage or a fizzy firework on opening- in which case you might get a shots worth…go ahead!

What worked best for me was to get out my hydrometer and take a reading every two days, I could also then calculate the alcohol % at the end. I covered the bucket in a pair of my girlfriend’s tights and left it in the cellar for about a week, until the hydrometer reading had dropped from 1.050 to below 1.000 (during which time it went a funny blue/green colour- no idea) This then told me fermentation had finished, bottling could go ahead and explosions would be kept to a minimum (not in the case of the missing tights).

If you can, leave the brew for 1-3 months, it IS ready to drink a week after bottling though! My brew came out at 6.4% (drop in specific gravity=50, 50 x 129= 6.450).

Serve chilled in a jug (the old school pint glass) with a sprig of mint, preferably in a green place at the end of a busy day. Watch out how many you have, it is deceptive stuff, especially if operating heavy machinery like a hammer or drill and working off the ground.

I cannot understand two things: first, why it is called a beer when it tastes more like a wine? Secondly, why people don’t make this more often! It is like the elderflower cordial of the alcohol world, sweet, refreshing and the perfect spring/summer drink.

This will certainly be my regular brew this summer: at a cost of about £3 for 20 pints, it is worth every penny! Do please, PLEASE give this one a go, trust me you will not regret 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.