A few weeks ago now I received a first-class lesson in self-sufficiency from an unexpected source: my estranged uncle. I hadn't seen the guy since I was maybe a toddler, and hence had no real memory of him. Everything I knew came from a few sparse photographs or some terse offhand comments about Hugh and his backwoods trailer. But as it turns out, mum's little brother was exactly the kind of person I needed to meet.
He's been squatting on a marginal scrap of for longer than I've been alive. For 23 years he's worked to carve out his own quiet life in a picturesque valley outside of Motueka. When he first arrived at the place he now calls home, it was nothing more than a patch of scrub, weeds and gorse bordering a mountain stream that feeds out from Kahurangi National Park. Since then he has laboured to clear the whole area, built a beautiful crescent-shaped driveway, set up some pastures for his stock, and even started a small native plant garden and barbeque area, complete with picnic table and sun umbrella. His pride and joy, however, is his trailer. And what a trailer it is. From the outside, with its wooden shingling and ornate green trim, it looks as if it should be attached to some flamboyant train, perhaps with a travelling circus. But once inside, his mobile abode is replete with stunning original woodwork, all done up in a rainbow of native New Zealand timber. The space is small of course, but the attention to detail is astonishing. It is a visual delight, with angular diamond patterns set into walls and doors, while the shelves are thoughtfully decorated with bronzed knick-knacks, tiny ancient bottles of liquor and other curiosities. Some of which belonged to my grandfather apparently.
Inconspicuous 12 volt lights line the roof at key locations, ensuring efficient use of power. His whole system runs almost entirely on solar year-round, though there is a generator to pick up the slack if need be. Even the electric cattle fences are solar-powered. You would think that hydro would be an obvious choice too considering his streamside location, but it turns out that the flow is simply too strong for domestic use. The turbines would just be washed away during a big rain event. Trust me, he's looked into it. The piece de resistance of his energy scheme, however, is the simple coal range stove that does triple duty in the trailer. Not only does it cook up a mean mutton roast, it more than adequately heats his tubular home, and it even heats the water so efficiently that you can have a sauna in the dead of winter.
Then there are additions like the outhouse longdrop, done up with a carved wooden seat, scenic posters of New Zealand, and a sheepskin floormat to keep your toes cozy. Next to that appears to be a simple metal toolshed, but in fact this houses the generator as well as a cleverly designed shower, drawing water from the stream just behind. An actual toolshead, and a spare campervan with auxiliary shade tent attachment round out the property's features.
In terms of food, my uncle has his own cattle to bop on the head every six months for meat. One of his best mates is the local butcher, and they keep a shared walk-in freezer between several of the neighbours (although neighbours in this case can mean several kilometers in any direction). This freezer is supplemented with an assortment of wild meats such as venison, boar, or whatever else can be bartered for between one another. There certainly is no shortage or protein. These are people whose primary concern is providing for themselves. A few colonies of hobby beehives also offer more honey than my uncle can rid himself of; about 90kg still to be spun out at present. Consequently I came away with a big jar for my own consumption.
There's heaps of space for a veggie patch, but unfortunately my uncle isn't too keen on most things green and leafy. Besides, the cows would probably get out and destroy the whole thing anyways he said. But he really has everything he needs otherwise. He is king of his land and I was lucky enough to witness his set up firsthand, if only for a meager 24 hours. You wouldn't expect it but this big, burly, tattooed meat-eater is almost certainly a more authentic environmentalist than I can claim to be; or most people with a degree in the environmental field. He just lives it. He knows the habits of the local hawks and other animals because he spends the time to be quiet and watch throughout the course of the year. There is no dichotomy between man and nature there; he truly inhabits his land. That's what it's all about. He's not likely to leave anytime soon either, and so I'm honestly quite tempted to join him for an extended period of time. I've got an invitation to come back and work over the summer, so I may have to take up the opportunity.
Who knew that I would find inspiration like that within my own family? Certainly not me. But what a pleasant revelation it was.
