Cat Got Your Tongue

As I reluctantly jigged around with the others in a circle, jerking my elbows and singing the Chipi-Chipi (a Spanish nursery rhyme translated into English on the hoof by a student from Barcelona) I reflected that the best way to shed oneself of an excess of dignity is to enrol on a course. It doesn't really matter what course as long as it's taught by someone who believes that getting everyone to make a fool of themselves will naturally unlock any inhibitions they may have had previously, thus provoking a free-flowing conversational style of learning. It seemed to work.

The course in question was a three-day Introduction to Permaculture, hosted at the Centre for Alternative Technology (CAT) and led by an external tutor called Angie Polkey. Thirteen of us from various parts of Britain and Spain, including a family of five from Barcelona who had made this part of their holiday, gathered together to be educated in the ways of permaculture. If you aren't sure what this is (and I first heard of it only last year) then you are in good company as even on this course it was admitted that there are as many definitions of permaculture as there are permaculture practitioners. It started life in the 70's as a more environmentally-aware approach to farming (the name is a contraction of "Permanent Agriculture") and has since become an all-inclusive philosophy of sustainability which can apparently be applied to any and every situation. I'd say my interest probably remains primarily with the agricultural side of it.

Day Two saw us making an excursion out a few miles east of Machynlleth to a remote seven-acre plot belonging to Tom and Lisa Brown, a Quaker couple in their late fifties who have lived there the last twenty-three years. Over that time Tom has beautifully restored a tumble-down stone farmhouse and old kiln house using their own timber and locally-sourced recycled materials. Lisa grows veg and sells it at Machynlleth market, and Tom makes and sells honey from their six hives of bees (the homebrew mead they keep to themselves). Holiday guests can come to stay in the caravan that the Browns used to live in before the house was habitable. They both came across as thoughtful, gentle and extremely able.  We were all very envious.

For the duration of the course I was staying at a nearby house of a friend, perched dramatically on top of a hill across from CAT. She had gone away for the weekend leaving me in sole charge of a tabby cat called Esme and her four cute kittens, a responsibility that weighed rather heavily as I had somehow never before had to look after any pet animal. After each day of the course I would get back and find the kittens scrapping on the kitchen floor or in a sleeping bundle on the couch while the mother would approach me and mew politely for their next meal. On the last evening however I opened the door to an absence of cat. Searching all over the house proved fruitless. This was better than finding five furry corpses but I was still perplexed. I didn't think they could get outside, but then found an open catflap in the back door so headed out myself and soon saw Esme walk nonchalantly across the courtyard and back through the catflap. Where were her charges? After hunting outside for a while and checking with the neighbour I went back in and there they were, leaping and tumbling around as usual. Who knows where they had hidden themselves earlier, the rascals.

Back on my land, the digging continues. Greg came down again and finished off the rest of the tree stumps with his five-tonne excavator which are now all dumped higgledy-piggledy in twos and threes. I'd say some of them would make a great still-life if any artist out there fancies the challenge.  Not sure what else they're good for, but I might try to eBay them just for a giggle. You never know, there may be a wealthy tree-stump collector out there willing to pay good money for forty prime examples of twenty-year-old Norway Spruce stumps.

A few stumps placed carefully in an artistic arrangement

The digger responsible