Compost

Today I had the joy of working on the garden compost with Shelby. When I say joy, I really mean it. I give this precision because I am renowned for not being good with smelly things. But, here, there was just the lovely smell of soil and hay.
So, we started with piling hay mixed with mycelium on top of the existing compost. Apparently, the combination improves the decomposition. Shelby gave me a detailed explanation about bacteria and how it breaks down the organic material. This is as far as I can remember, sorry, but in a nutshell, it reminded me of the bacteria in our stomach and the enzymes, breaking down our food with each element inside our guts working as a team in a joyful symphony.
Going back to the compost, we added the waste from the buckwheat which is a mix of leftover buckweat seeds and ambrose. Raph mentioned that this mix of buckweat and ambrose can get very hot when it sits in a compost, to the point where it could trigger a hay fire. So we took special care in the way we prepared the layers of the compost. When I put my hand in the pile of that mix of buckweat and Ambrose contained in the trailer, I could not believe how hot that was! Honestly, in the cold winter days, I could see myself swimming in it just to enjoy the warmth, specially since we don’t have any bath here!
Anyway, after a little bit of research, I found that compost piles can generate heat as microorganisms break down organic matter. If the pile becomes too compacted or if there is insufficient moisture, it can lead to overheat.
So, in order to minimise the risk of fire in compost, it's important to maintain proper aeration, moisture levels and regularly turning the compost can help manage temperature and ensure decomposition.
There we are, adding a layer of soil on top, then another layer of hay and finally, some dead leaves. A beautiful lasagna ready to cook!
It was a lovely moment to share together, under the drizzling light rain, chatting and “layering” away with that wonderful feeling that the summer is slowly giving away to autumn and we’ll soon be enjoying the joy of a warm cup of tea by the wooden stove.

Bird rescue

This is the end of the summer and the birds are chirping all around us. As I am listening to their songs, it reminds me a wonderful moment that I’d like to share with you:
A few of years ago, Ed, the boys and I went off to the forest with the tractor to cut some wood for the stove. It was a chill but sunny day, we were all geared up and ready to go..
We start the engine of the tractor and head to the area where we can find dead wood. First we chainsaw the standing dead trees, then we load them onto the trailer and go back down to our house with the tractor to chop it into stove size pieces.
As we finished the job, we were about to restart the tractor in order to park it back in the tunnel when we noticed a bit of straw sticking out of the bonet. Strange.. we open the bonnet and with complete amazement appear 5 tiny open birds mouths, asking frantically for food! My godness, these birds were by the engine the whole time we went off with the tractor and the engine on, and they are still alive! Of course, it didn’t take a second before Will and Elio decided to pick up the nest, set it in a wooden box, put up a light and these 5 little chirping fluffy things would become our house mates for a month!
I have to say, they were absolutely gorgeous. We fed them, gave them water and attention, and here we go, we became their new parents. In fact, baby birds form attachments and learn behaviors from the first moving object it sees, which is usually its parent. If a human rescues a baby bird and provides care, the bird may imprint on the human, seeing them as a parent figure.
A few weeks later, we had birds flying in the house and of course pooping everywhere they were going, that was less fun. We took care of them until (coming along with a joyful tear in the eye), they flew back into the wild. Isn’t it just like being a parent?
It turned out that they were robins. Life is strong, yet fragile.. being so close reminds us everyday to take care of life, in any form or shape ;)
Astrid
NB : I recommend watching the documentary Life on our planet - David Attenborough

Questionnaire pour une étude de marché de création d'Ecolieu

Bonjour,

Ici Eva, je suis actuellement en service civique sur le domaine de Lavenant, Grain&Sens (Ardèche). J’ai comme projet de créer mon propre éco-lieu. Afin de m’aider à comprendre les besoins et les attentes des personnes qui fréquentent et séjournent dans les éco-lieux, je vous remercie de répondre à ce questionnaire qui restera totalement anonyme.

NB : Ce n’est pas un questionnaire de satisfaction du gîte de Grain&Sens. 

Ce questionnaire dure 10 minutes. La réponse est individuelle même si vous voyagez en groupe ou en famille.  

Merci pour le temps que vous accordez pour ce questionnaire.

Poetry to open our world

All bread is made of wood,
cow dung, packed brown moss,
the bodies of dead animals, the teeth
and backbones, what is left
after the ravens. This dirt
flows through the stems into the grain,
into the arm, nine strokes
of the axe, skin from a tree,
good water which is the first
gift, four hours.

Live burial under a moist cloth,
a silver dish, the row
of white famine bellies
swollen and taut in the oven,
lungfuls of warm breath stopped
in the heat from an old sun.

Good bread has the salt taste
of your hands after nine
strokes of the axe, the salt
taste of your mouth, it smells
of its own small death, of the deaths
before and after.

Lift these ashes
into your mouth, your blood;
to know what you devour
is to consecrate it,
almost. All bread must be broken
so it can be shared. Together
we eat this earth.

All Bread

Written by Margaret Atwood

Je suis canal puissant, ouverture béante des grottes matricielles

J'invite au mystère jamais résolu de ma vie

Je baigne les doutes dans les eaux de l'oubli

Je dissous les cristaux grinçants de la mėsestime

Je pousse à la délivrance, dans chacun de mes ovaires mûrit la possibilité d'un monde

J'accouche à chaque lune de la mémoire des sorcières

Je suis femme consciente de ses chaînes, de chaque maillon je chéris la libération potentielle

J'honore les luttes et j'entretiens la paix

Dans le jardin de mes droits, je laisse en jachère le venin du jusqueboutisme

Je reconnais dans les nuisibles l'intelligence du vivant

Je suis pétale, je vole au vent de l'imprévisible

Légère et reliée à mon centre nourricier, je danse ma couleur journalière

J'ignore le passé et je n'attends plus le futur, je suis l'innocence ressuscitée de l'instant

Je prends le cadeau de la grâce en plein ventre

Je suis fertilité de l'abandon

Je suis vie sans projet, sans effort

Je suis les flots impétueux et majestueux du vivant

Je suis oeuvre sans auteur, pure expression de vie

Je lâche les rênes du contrôle, je suis ma propre monture, indomptable et souveraine

Je chevauche mes choix avec réjouissance

Je retrace ma route à chaque carrefour

Je suis corps à corps amoureux avec le destin, danse impertinente avec le déjà-écrit, essoufflement heureux de l'orgasme dans la rencontre avec mon être.

Femme aux mille nichons, je donne la vie rouge sang

J'éclabousse à chaque cycle la puissance du lâcher prise

Je porte en bandoulière les blessures des générations sacrifiées

Je suis toutes les femmes de Barbe Bleue

Derrière les murs de silence, je hurle ma dignité

Je suis voix lactée, constellation familiale, j'éclaire la nuit des temps

Je suis multiple, boule à facettes éclectique, explosion d'hormones...merci Simone.

Je suis mère, origine de tous vos mondes sans exception

Fille d'Eve et de Lilith, sainte et putain,

Dans la rue comme dans les palais,

Je m'incline sans me soumettre devant la beauté de la vie

Les Aubes Sauvages

Création d'inattendu