Te Radar
Feature - Upfront
A man alone
by Te Radar
In an exclusive extract from his diary, Te Radar reveals the horrors of trying to lead a more sustainable life.
September 28, 2007
I have brought with me, to the paddock in which I now find myself domiciled in a tent, a copy of Stephanie Alexander’s The Cook’s Companion. This may have been overly optimistic. In all of its 1100-odd pages, there are only four dedicated to silverbeet. This may seem an adequate number of pages for silverbeet, but when all a man has to eat is the green leafy vegetable, any way of varying its taste is welcome.
I have an abundance of silverbeet, as it’s all that’s growing in the derelict garden that is my food supply until such times as the seedlings I have planted are ready for harvest. That time is not nigh.
Over the past several days, I have run the gamut of Alexander’s suggestions that are open to me, given my limited set of ingredients. These have included such culinary delights as Silverbeet on Toast, and Silverbeet and Parsley. I have endured both repeatedly. This morning, though, I experienced a disaster. I ran out of toast. Whatever will I do now?
October 12, 2007
Alone in my weather-battered tent, I reflect on gardening guru Eion Scarrow’s visage, which beams from the cover of a dated copy of one of his gardening guides. Given the state of my failing gardens, I should read it, but due to the emergence of some form of nonsensical pride, I am taking the same belligerent attitude to gardening books that many men take to instruction manuals on Christmas Day: they have their place, and that is a place of last resort.
October 13, 2007
This morning, the chickens ate most of my silverbeet. Am hiding from rain in tent, snuggled up warmly in my sleeping bag and devouring Eion Scarrow.
November 17, 2007
I constantly find myself embarking upon a task, and then realising I am missing a crucial tool, I stroll over to where I should have put the tool away safely, hunt futilely for said tool, then grasp that it was probably left by the last task I started but did not finish.
I track down the last unfinished project, then spend a few minutes staring at it and wondering how it was that I had left it so incomplete before I try to remember what it was that I was looking for in the first place.
I find the tool and, in the process of wandering back to the task I was attempting to achieve, start some needless new project before toddling off, leaving that unfinished as I try to figure out something else to do with silverbeet. I think I need to focus more.
January 12, 2008
Today, I made hay while the sun shined. The dangers of this rural practice were always the most graphic demonstrations at my country primary school’s Rural Safety Day. The hay-baler would be towed down the playing field re-baling hay that had been scattered about for the demonstration, when all of a sudden the flailing hessian limbs of the “person-frolicking-in-hay” dummy would be eaten by the whirling tongs in the baler’s gaping maw. A ragged cheer was elicited from our juvenile throats as the bale churned out with bits of cloth limbs clad in tattered flannel shirt and ripped denim protruding from it at unusual angles. I am hopeful no such horror will befall me. On the positive side, it gives me a chance to rediscover some my misplaced tools.
February 14, 2008
The one problem with a fire-bath is the summertime fire ban. I have resorted to washing myself by standing in a small plastic basin filled with a few inches of tepid water. Nothing dispels any lingering sense of noble self-sacrifice like standing nude in a field, feet firmly planted in a plastic basin, while sloshing warm soapy water over yourself as the thin summer breeze cools your back and the cows stare at you with a look of indifference. I hope the neighbours can’t see.
February 26, 2008
I chopped some chickens’ heads off with an axe in order to turn them into a lovely pasta dish to thank a man who let me stab a pig to death with a knife so that I could have some pork for my dinner.
March 7, 2008
The water is starting to taste a bit funny. Must remember to check the tank that collects my drinking water from the roof of the barn.
March 10, 2008
Water still a little queer. It has a rank muskiness that water shouldn’t have. As there has been no rain for some time, I believe this is indicative of nearing the bottom of the tank. Must check tank.
March 13, 2008
Finally driven by the water’s heady tang to check tank. Spent some time trying to track down ladder, which made me thirsty. Grimaced a little as I quaffed refreshing glass of water. Clambered up to top of tank to lift the lid. Tank not near empty. In fact, it’s two-thirds full, but the aroma suggests all is not well.
It contains a soupy broth of what appears to have once been a possum. Ordinarily, possums make not a bad broth. (To be honest, it’s not a good broth, but it certainly isn’t what could be described as bad. It’s palatable.) In this case it could not be described as anything less than nauseating.
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