Woodfair overview from Anton Coaker

 Anton Coaker our Sawmill operator from last weeks Cranborne Chase Woodfair has sent us a copy of his article which he has written for his local paper, we thought we should share. Thanks Anton it was a great event. 

Not having been off to such an event for a few years, sawyer Barrie and I packed up the 3 ringed sawmill circus and headed off to a Woodfair at the weekend. The premise was that we were to give a demonstration of mobile milling. The reality? Barrie cuts a few logs while I give it my best barrow boy patter, and sweet talk passing punters out their folding stuff for interesting fresh sawn boards.

 This time, the event was up on Cranborne Chase, in Hampshire. We’d attended a previous bash, at a site called the ‘Larmer Tree’ –and no, I don’t know what that means- but this year it had moved to the grounds of a big house down the road.  This was Breamore House, a 17^th century brick built pile – on an ‘E’ shaped footprint, in honour of good Queen Bess. The owners had kindly –rashly even- allowed us grubby wood urchins to pitch up in the parkland right next to the house, and a finer spot would be hard to imagine.  Surrounded by woodland, and meadows running down to the river Avon meandering its way down from Salisbury, it was idyllic.

 For those with an interest in such things, the reddish soil was fine and squidgy underfoot, with miles of chalk up over the downs behind. Rainfall isn’t high, and up on the chalk, water is ever a problem for stock. Dewponds and 200’ deep wells were the norm. Now most of the chalk is ploughed, that’s less of an issue, although generally I’d say a lot of it could do with a bit more stock again, to get some muck back on the ground. Curiously, some wells up over the hill is known to be on the line of a Roman road now gone, suggesting the legions dug wells as they went. Or at least had slaves do so.   

 We travelled up at stupid O’clock on Saturday morning, although Barrie had towed the mill up the night before. As the misty dawn lifted, we set up beside another mobile milling team. They were a personable bunch of local lads, with a more venerable outfit- a huge circular rackbench, driven by a steam engine. The gurgling and huffing noises of the steamer were a nice counterpoint to the wicked growling of the inserted tooth 60” diameter circular. By contracts, we boringly make sawdust to the sound of a diesel engine.

 The punters were thick on the ground and, I have to say, almost universally of an engaging and curious nature. It was a pleasure to stand at the safety tape, and explain what we were doing to the throngs. And if they fancied they could ‘make a nice house sign/coffee table out of that £5 offcut of red cedar’, then we were all going home happy weren’t we?

 The Saturday night, our team made for the mobile pizza oven, whose owners had obligingly agreed to keep the fire lit to feed hungry exhibitors. As we waited for nosh, a flask of spiritual refreshment appeared, then a couple of gallons of cider, and I didn’t seem to be able to get up again. As darkness fell and the stars came out very satisfactorily, someone kindly set up a brazier at my tootsies. A chorus of owls serenaded us as we passed some very convivial time.

 Crikey, but it’s a hard life.

 Sunday morning found some of us –OK, me- a little slow to stir, but the punters didn’t rock up until 10, so we could emerge at our leisure. I’d kipped under a hide rug in the truck cab, and comparisons with Barrie indicate we’re both beginning to creak and groan after nights bivouacked out of doors. Still, we soon managed to don our beaming welcoming faces, and had a second day as good as the first.

  There was a bit of an equine feeling going on, with that nice old fellow pulling a few logs about behind a very personable grey dobbin, a pair of smart upstanding Suffolk Punches tugging cartloads of paying punters round in step, and the delightful Natasha leading her pair of very fine neddies through the park for their breakfast – Natasha lives in the big house you see. Lovely gel I thought.

  We finally wearily packed up for home, Barrie heading for a mobile job into the new week, me back to the building site. There was a certain amount of difficulty when it transpired that I needed the wifes car Monday evening to run an errand, with ‘B’ still out in my landrover. Silly stories persist about the ‘joint chair’ of the parish council then turning up to chair a meeting driving her husbands loader tractor, but I know you’d never believe such nonsense, so we’ll say no more about it.

Some reflection for a more greener, sustainable world . .

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to an older woman that she should bring her own shopping bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days."

The cashier  responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

She was right --  our generation didn't have the green thing in its day. Back then, we returned milk bottles, pop bottles and beer bottles to the store. The  store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every shop and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.  
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's nappies because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. 
But that young lady is right. We didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the  size of the county of Yorkshire . In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the post, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.  Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. 
But she's right. We didn't have the green thing back then.

We drank water from a fountain or a tap when we were thirsty instead of demanding a plastic bottle flown in from another country.  We accepted that a lot of food was seasonal and didn’t expect that to be bucked by flying it thousands of air miles around the world.  We actually cooked food that didn’t come out of a packet, tin or plastic wrap and we could even wash our own vegetables and chop our own salad.  
But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the tram or a bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mothers into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart-ass young person.

Code your milk and win a prize

It's not often we find something to chuckle about when it comes to landscape conservation but you have to take your hat off to this creative French farmer.  

Living in an area equivilant to an AONB known as a Parcs Naturels Régionaux but still needing to advertise his farmgate sales to passing traffic he found himself unable to put up advertising signage.  With a limited marketing budget he and a friend decided to put QR Codes on the cows! 

To add to this they divised a game for passers by to use these codes to complete a scratch card game; whereby if they reveal three cows they win some free products from the farm. Visits and sales have since risen dramatically.

You may watch a YouTube video on it here.   Félicitations Monsieur Le Béhoc!

This film and news item came to us courtesy of Roger at 2d-code.co.uk