Tomorrow we would be riding the 30 miles towards Brighton, whenever we had spent an extended amount of time somewhere we were itching to move on, but not this time, I was missing it before I even left. I finished off carving some chainlinks around the fire that morning and then we finished off battening the roof ready for waterproof membrane and sedum. After some gorgeous days the sky grew temperamental and between bursts of sunshine it showered down upon us, no swimming today.

The end of the day approached and Millar got a text message, ‘free food from the wake’. We trooped down the road double time towards the holist. There is something about travellers and I guess poor apprentices in the woods that lights up at the words free food and we go into survival mode. We hovered up the leftover sandwiches on the bar, dips and pita gone, tabbouleh finished. the barmaid proudly told each customer how Sally had said the food would need to be thrown out if they couldn’t find someone to eat it and she knew who to tell “Millar free food, now”. We felt we had done them a service.

It was a beautiful golden evening, we trooped back to the campfire to make nettle pesto, a goodbye meal with Ben. My fingers burned with stings and good company and good food made it a memorable last night. We shared millionaire’s shortbread and as a final farewell, Barley did his routine disappearing act at dusk. Dylan ran after him calling and he returned half an hour later tail wagging, it wouldn’t be a late night for Ben waiting for the call to pick Barley up 10 miles down the road. A goodnight sleep for all.

Nettle Pesto

Bring nettles to the boil in a saucepan full of water to remove stings. Add chopped up chard leaves to boil for 5 minutes longer, reserving stalks. Take off heat, strain and chop up finely.

Meanwhile toast pinenuts and set aside. Fry chopped garlic in butter until golden and add chopped herbs for a further minute. Add chopped sorrel and sliced chard stalks cooking until soft.

Combine with all ingredients and stir together until warm, add to pasta and serve with Parmesan shavings.

I was standing ankle deep in mud with oversized bright orange overpants, bright blue raincoat and a green bike cap, I looked like the lovechild of Mario brothers and an oompa loompa. It was raining and we were putting chains around logs, attached to a pulley around a tree attached to Ben in a 4wd. We slogged up the hill guiding the logs out of the way of stumps and ruts, throwing a fluoro vest in the air when we hit a snag, Paul throwing up a yellow hardhat further down the road for Ben to see in his rear view. It sounds awful, but it was actually kind of fun. For a day that is, we had our hats off to Paul and Millar who did this all winter.

Up and down we went, by the end the logs had dug themselves a trench and as Paul said it looked like we were just taking a log for a walk. It would have been a sight to see, mud from head to foot. At the end of the day we had 16 logs at the top of the hill and we were relieved to know that today was shower day. The day the fire was stoked and the apprentices invited in to Ben’s house for a shower and a meal.

It was nice to see the house in the flesh, actually lived in. Ben was running an experiment, that being letting the house age without maintenance to see what would happen. He said that things that use to annoy him because they were mistakes are now his favourite parts because they remind him of the people who helped him build the house. An Australian who had never done a tenon joint before (it wasn’t that good, but it didn’t fall apart), the squeak upstairs because some other fellows put all the joins in the same place, did they ever build their own house? It was a lovely attitude to have.

Clean and ravenous, a feast was delivered. Every dish had something from the woodland. I never knew how delicious crispy chard stalks with capers could be, I vowed never to throw out the stalks again. Then out came more delicious cider and Millar returned with tales from the welsh border. Then my rhubarb pie fresh from garden to oven to table was devoured, a nice comforting meal after a long day.

“His middle name isn’t really ‘Pagan’, it’s for marketing.” Ben laughed looking at the DVD for organic pools by David ‘Pagan’ Butler. Not even hippies are immune to advertising tricks. Pagan or not Ben’s organic pool was a stunning oasis. As we worked on battening his curving bar structure the water glistened invitingly. Paul kept checking the temperature 61F, it was a beautiful sunny day, just three of us on a roof.

The curving structure was going to have a green roof, nestled into the hill, disappearing. Straight trees are always sort after, but here Ben found a use for the bananas, it was beautiful.

As the sun sank low over the trees the pool became a little less inviting, but we had promised ourselves a swim, and no matter how frigid the water we were going to do it! (we were due for a wash) I jumped, head going under, it was about the temperature of the Antarctic waters of the Victorian coast, so really nothing new, but it wasn’t a hot Australian summers day. Paul and I surreptitiously washed when Ben was looking the other way, we didn’t wan him to think we might be encouraging an algae bloom.

Once we numbed it was lovely with the stones and the irises around us, the occasional newt blinking up at us. Chickens enjoyed the last rays of sun next door and an old oak was lit up in Golden light.

Hot tea with a splash of milk is so comforting. I hadn’t really touched the stuff since my thesis when, alone in the dark of the night I sort comfort in pots of the stuff accompanied by the soothing murmurings of ABC classical FM. I felt that familiar comfort as we drank mug after mug, we were in England now, a world away from the blue bottled beers that were being passed around on site in New Mexico. And only in England would someone be giving it up for a while to break their addiction, Paul was on herbal teas as the caffeine was starting to become a crutch. Kineseology Chris (not to be confused with rigger Chris) proved the point by getting Paul to hold a tea bag to his chest and pushed on his arm to test for strength, there was a different result for a beer bottle.

We tested our butterpat joints, with a pile of past failures destined for the fire looming nearby. The kind of went together, like a seasaw… Ben taught a neat little trick of putting leaves in the joints and then checking where the green marks were left to see where it rubbed. They needed work.

Then an excursion to see the building Ben did for the national trust, a finely finished home and a school multipurpose room. On the way we scooped up a fallen cyclist who had got himself tangled trying to remove some dangling string from his wheel. The hospital was closed, but he was recovered enough by then to be dropped at the train station. I hoped I would not require similar saving in my biking adventures.

I’ll leave the photos to show you around, but I was particularly charmed by the school building. It was so much fun with a rope ramp entry, green roof and underground secret space. That’s what school buildings should be.

Then it was pizza night, with Dylan head chef (as usual when it comes to doughy matters). What a delight to have Smoky woodpile pizza sitting around the fire with new friends and homemade cider delivered by Ben in a giant glass flagon. Every year they have an cider making day in the village, a real communal event with children running through aprons and the like. Last year someone left a terse note regarding apples rolling onto their driveway and the next day unknown scoundrels lobbed apples at their door, they didn’t have the right village spirit I suppose and promptly move on.

Watching now familiar faces flickering in the fire we Thought, too soon the course would be over and off we’d fly rootless into the breeze. But enough tomorrow, now there is nettle pesto and feta pizza and lots of other creative toppings to be devoured.