Ranch
I’m awake at 5. Wide awake. Not tired or groggy. I was in bed by 10 yesterday and out like a light after a lovely little family gathering.
It’s the winter solstice and I feel a new optimism and an energy that wasn’t there yesterday.
It’s typical grey northern: misty; clingy cold; rain likely. I can’t wait to get outside on my land for a couple of hours. It’s a day of quiet celebration. Nothing fancy. Land stuff. Family stuff. Roast dinner, wine and candles. Hopefully in bed before I fall asleep in the chair.
Is there anything in this Pagan hippy shit? Following the solstices and equinoxes? Trusting nature above all else? Planting at specific times related to patterns of the moon and sun?
Probably.
Otherwise, why would top vineyards follow this kind of planting? They do it because they noticed it made the grapes taste better.
I never had a burning ambition to ‘leave it all behind’ and buy land to go off grid. Fuck that. Too much hard work. I like my little scruffy town. I’m not going anywhere. Especially not abroad! Being lucky enough to buy land 10 minutes walk from home happened by accident really.
I always liked being outdoors though, particularly in the sun. It must have come from my mum and dad. They both loved nature.
Before I had an allotment, I would wander for miles learning to identify all the native wild plants.
Walking under that railway bridge just up the road was a revelation. I didn’t even know it was there – that rough track flanked by allotments then higher up the most spectacular view over the town and Pendle Hill. At the top another track bearing left through 17th century farmhouses and right descending downwards what was the town’s cattle market. I was smitten.
I started walking up there regularly. My dad remembered the area from the end of the war – it was lots of smaller allotments, all growing food or keeping livestock. They were never called allotments – they were pens. Pens because people kept ferrets, dogs, chickens, pigs and of course pigeons. Pigeons were big.
Fast forward to now, and there are 3 decades in between. From the excitement of getting that first 10th acre plot, which maybe saved my life, to owning 2 acres is an epic tale for later. An epic tale of drama, land law and even music. It would piss all over that posh Hebden thing that’s just been on telly.
‘Me and the trees’ is a phrase I use a lot. It’s a metaphor which says ‘I’d rather be alone in nature than put up with the endless dickery of humans.’ It’s a difficult juxtaposition between solitude and sharing it all. Jim Carrey said that solitude becomes more addictive, the older you get.
There came a particular moment when it was time to leave the rat-race and how wracking and harrowing it was. I’d worked extremely hard but it was time to go. Due to my complete financial naiveté I was amazed to learn that I’d get a lump sum. I could be comfortable. But I’m not. I’m uncomfortable. I’m a nervous whippet. Always finding the hardest way of doing things.
I don’t like or trust banks. They’re one of the lynchpins of control over us peasants. I bought a little house in need of full renovation. Close to the ranch. An urban farmhouse. I told them to fuck their gas and electricity – I’d sort my own (another epic tale). I’d swum half way across the channel when I suddenly realised I’d bitten of more than I could masticate. Building stuff had doubled in price since the debacle and a lot of my spare time became dedicated to my toddler pal.
Then one day, someone said ‘It’s a spiritual journey’. Oh yeah. I get it now. I learned to concentrate on one job at a time and I’m getting there. It really is a beautiful little special place with a big garden and I’m filled with gratitude. Each landmark like finishing the kitchen roof, is special. The best one so far is getting the Rayburn going. Cooking. Hot water. Heating. All from 300kg of cast iron designed over 8 decades ago.
Today I’m immensely grateful to have enough land, property and knowledge to achieve a small degree of self-sufficiency. There’s no such thing as complete self-sufficiency btw. We need the company of like-minded to progress and we still have to interact with the matrix intelligently to generate income.
I’ve been growing organically and no-dig for yonks. I’m way behind: wild straggling hedges; beds full of weeds; leaking roofs; tractor in need of repair; a long list of unfinished projects. It doesn’t matter. The land is full of promise and I’ll be aspiring to grow even more this season. I’m trying to share it all with like-minded folk.
Once a doctor always a doctor. I was interested in medicinal plants long before I went down the conventional route. I’m getting really interested in natural medicine again including fungi. I processed my own beeswax for making salves.
Now here’s an omen. T’government recently banned the sale of Turkey Tail and Cordyceps. Both have been used for centuries medicinally. Turkey Tail in particular has been associated anecdotally with some success in cancer treatment. A like-minded friend, also very into native wild plants, did a little video about it. The day after, I was in the garden at my house snipping dried twigs for kindling and I noticed lots of patterned small bracket fungi growing on branches that I’d pruned from the trees behind. Could it be? Is it really? I checked and double checked and yes it is. Turkey Tail. Ha.
Elsewhere
… is where I observe that what goes on in microcosm in nature, is somehow reflected in the bigger world outside. It’s not strictly true, because there’s nothing in nature comparable with the endless folly of man.
I grew up in the thick of the punk generation where healthy anti-authoritarianism was par for the course. My whole being is steeped in ultra-pragmatism. From my engineering apprenticeship to years spent in Emergency medicine, not to mention decades of that cross-legged hippy spiritual shit.
My point is that I couldn’t be a conspiracy theorist if I tried. I’m too battle-hardened in face-to-face human reality.
When Covid came, like all senior A&E staff, I was too tied up in trying to implement the massive changes to the department needed to cope with the oncoming onslaught to question anything. I’ve always been slow and thick as pigshit at times (sorry pigs). Still, I got there in the end. Critical thinking is supposed to be the cornerstone of medicine and boy did I critically think once I saw that several aspects of what was being stuffed down our throats and stuck in our arms, just didn’t add up.
A large proportion of the population realise intuitively at least, that the government does not serve the interests of ordinary working people. During Covid, we saw the biggest transfer of wealth from all working people to the already rich.
I’ve documented how it all works endlessly in previous dispatches. In brief, a handful of shady families with unimaginable wealth, control everything through a pyramid comprising, corporations, foundations and other NGOs.
The puppet governments are way down the pyramid. Their role is to fully engage and distract the public in whatever way needed. There used to be a popular satirical UK TV show called Spitting Image that used grotesque puppets to caricature politicians and others in power. It doesn’t work any more, because the actual characters are more grotesque than any satirical puppet could be. Sadly, there are thousands duped into believing that the next face-gurning privileged millionaire prick, waiting in the wings, is any different to the previous ones. His lips, just like the rest are firmly puckered around the heinous arse that’s in control of everything. They’re all characters in the best soap opera ever written.
There are aspects of those in charge that are almost too horrific to contemplate. Yes we know about their genocides, but less is known about why thousands of children disappear without trace every year – it’s beyond horror. The long-term plan, now close to completion is to control everyone and everything digitally. From the destruction of farming and healthcare, to the mandatory use of digital ID. It’s all there under our noses. AI is particularly terrifying. Every single click or touch on a phone screen is recorded, then AI classifies us into categories. Some categories will be put on the naughty step – just like China.
The algorithms are so sophisticated and are particularly good at turning like-minded questioners against each other. My favourite is ‘flu rebranded’ and it still triggers me. Whatever Covid was, it was something new with a couple of unique features. Sadly it killed a lot of older bigger people. I was there. I treated it. I have the benefit of 20 odd years dealing with winter respiratory illnesses for comparison. Still, a significant proportion of screen-onlys have been brainwashed into believing that Covid didn’t exist and was actually flu rebranded. I’ve explained it in great detail on numerous occasions. It’s an example of how successful the algorithms are, because I should know better by now and not get triggered. Above all, be kind innit.
What’s the solution? The obvious one is the ability to form parallel communities that can grow food, have clean water, produce heat and power and guess what? Nature doesn’t need bar codes, mobile phones or computer screens to function.
Rock & Roll
…is beyond splendid. During the punk explosion, I was lucky enough to play in a band who enjoyed modest success (NOTSENSIBLES). Our album is being re-released on vinyl along with a singles album and we’re due to play at Rebellion and Morecambe next year.
I’ve got my mojo back and am back playing my guitar and recording again. I’m just HARTLEY from now on. Me and the trees and whoever else is interested. Lee, first and foremost a guitarist, is now playing drums and childhood fellow Notsensible Gaz is still on bass. We’ve done a couple of gigs and the best one was in the front room. We knocked together a house band with fabulous singers Gary Starr and Dawn. It was great. What’s more I got to play drums.
The morning light is trickling through. The outdoors beckons.
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