There are only two months to go before the other half of Team Buckner moves to the farm.  The reality is that the house is barely ready for Kristin and I, even though we are only inhabiting 250 square feet of it for the foreseeable future.  The house is about 1600 square feet total.

Our little “apartment” holds the wood stove (our only source of heat), our new fridge, toaster oven, bed, two tables, a dog, a cat, and the day to day possessions of the two of us.  The place is pretty snug, but we are getting used to navigating it.

We now have running water, but no hot water heater.  We also have power, but only one working outlet.  Small steps seem to take forever, but in the larger picture the pace is not really all that bad.

The rest of the house is in a state of rotten.  The floors collapsed or were in the process of collapsing.  All of the timbers that hold up the house frame have been eaten away by water and termites.  They literally crumble into dust when touched.

The original construction of the destroyed parts of the house was done with any available materials.  The pilings that hold up the place are merely stacks of field rocks and random bricks.  One section of the house is held up with two scrap pieces of firewood.

In order for Noel and Danielle to take residence in the upstairs portion of the house, the bottom level has to be rebuilt in order to hold the weight of two people and their stuff.  At the moment it would be sketchy to even think about living above the disaster.

I’m not sure how the stairs are even held up.  They float above the dirt floor like a ghostly transporter to the upper floor.

The large chimney was built on top of a pile of rocks with no other support.  It is no wonder that the chimney itself is turning into its own pile of rocks.

The floors came out pretty easily with the help of a sledge hammer and reciprocating saw.  Mike and Noel tore it up in a short period of time.

We found evidence of other residents.  A pile of deer ribs, half a corn cob and a turtle shell told the tale of a scavenger living among us.

Another entrance to the house has been consumed by water damage.  A ruptured pipe under the house and a leaking roof provide plenty of standing water and rot.

Outside the house Danielle, Noel and I also found time to scour the woods for downed cedar trees.  These will be used for fence posts to hold in the goats and keep out the deer.

Planting time is coming soon, and the decision to take on a farming apprentice in February (more on that later!) is making the house and land preparations all the more urgent.  I have been hauling horse manure and cardboard like a crazy person, getting the building blocks for the farm beds together.  Let’s start the countdown…

I do not look up to the people that mainstream culture considers heroes and role models.  Sports figures, TV personalities, cops, and politicians do nothing to inspire me or make me believe that they live any type of life that I would want to emulate.  My heroes are my friends, the people who are making things happen in their daily lives that have the capacity to change how the world works and change it for the better.

It is profoundly more satisfying to sit on a porch talking with your heroes rather than watching them act like another person on television or race a car around a track or beat up people practicing what is left of their rights.

My heroes dig in the dirt, work in offices, have short hair and long hair, piercings and tattoos, crisp shirts and ties.

Photo by John Cranford

My heroes have trembling voices, strong voices or sometimes no voices at all.  They are all ages, from various backgrounds.  I learn from them and they learn from me, sharing practical information on fixing bicycle tires or picking wild edible plants, creating the type of community where no one wants for anything if they are willing to participate and work for each other and themselves.

Art by Brandi Lee

My heroes are everywhere, and I meet more of them everyday.  They grow like weeds, through the cracks and crevices of society, immune to the herbicides dumped upon them.

Be Your Own Hero!

I am settling in to my new work home, trying to remember people’s names and failing to quite get where it is that everyone fits into this project.  There is a farm component at The Plant as well an accounting office, a sustainable energy/local food focused foundation, and, of course, a million gallon a year biodiesel production facility.

Inside that facility there are also plenty of other components such as R&D, an analytics lab and a design/build team that works on making new facilities and fuel reactors.  Oh, and add to that a new piece that will do glycerin refining.  Wait, and the reactor that makes bug spray our of rue.  And the hydroponic greenhouse.  And the giant vermicomposter.

With all these components comes plenty of people and personalities, running past each other as they work or play or occasionally do both at the same time.  At most points in my day, the length of time I could have a conversation if I wanted to is minimal (and those who know me know that I am not a talker).

In this hectic environment, the folks around here came up with a nice speed-bump called Local Lunch Friday.  The idea is for teams of people - involved with The Plant on some level - to cook lunch for everyone else.  Once a week, everyone comes together to share a space and a meal made from as much local content as possible.

This past Friday was my first Local Lunch.  It was also ECO’s turn to make food, so I got to cook for thirty people in my first week on the job and without knowing many of those same people.

We made pepper slaw with peppers from Green Dreams Farm in Pittsboro, Baba ghanoush, flatbread and crackers.

There was also apple crisp out of Caroline Red June apples from one of our farmers in the mountains.

My contribution was a chunky squash and tomato soup seasoned only with honey.

A crowder pea pie made with spaghetti squash and potatoes served as the main dish.

Farmers, fuel makers, interns, friends and guests; all turned out for a great lunch where the food disappeared in minutes.  It was a good exposure to the people populating The Plant.  Hopefully I can get over myself and start to talk to folks more, get over my stand-offish outer appearance and spread more of the “hey, come talk to me” spores into the wind around me.

You thought that since I moved away from Wilmington that all would be forgotten?  In the news again -

Tidal Creek Co-op produce manager Trace Ramsey bills himself as an anarchist, but his desire to pull up stakes and help build a self-sustaining farm with four friends is part of an organized plan.

Ramsey left his Tidal Creek position last week to the dismay of customers who, for the past five years, relied on him to keep the cooperative stocked with fresh local fruit and vegetables. Now, on 12 acres in Chatham County, he’ll raise animals and grow organic vegetables, working the land without mechanical tools.

- Continued -