Rural economics: a lifeboat

I’ve been travelling the Celtic crescent, learning more of its ways and looking for somewhere I could afford to call home. A self-employed creative selling exclusively online with advanced professional skills, the gift of the gab and a warmhearted smile, I find many corners of wonder, and many welcomes.

I’m a native of the gnarly woods and rugged heights of the sublime but conservative desert that is Dartmoor. I left its raw beauty, artistic networks and counter-cultural cleaves in an unavoidable wrench that felt like divorce six years ago: left the smallholding of my dreams because I was not able to do the smallholding of my dreams on a rental property in a monetary economy. Let alone make art at the same time – or love.

Indeed, very few are able, and if they have a car, as every country dweller must in a monoculture countryside hollowed of social and economic life, then their ecological footprint goes straight into the measure of multiple planets. (And that’s just smallholders; my good farming neighbours are dysfunctionally subsidised to take part in one of the dirtiest industries in the world: industrial capitalism both over-inflates and fatally undermines agricultural business in toxic co-dependency.)

My understanding is that the logics of subsistence and monetary economics are in irreconcilable conflict. My theroetical analysis tells me that the latter will always subsume the former due to the voracious dynamic of the debt based monetary system. My own and others’ personal and professional lived experience, as well as my reading of history, tells me that the conflict will, except for the most privileged, generally lead to breakdown in any individual or community that tries to straddle both logics. The problem is that the very desirable comforts of the industrial economy necessitate certain conveniences which short-circuit the subsistence model and undermine your very ability (skills, community networks, art creation) to self-subsist.

As long as you are part-plugged in to the monetary economy and trying to participate in mainstream society as is, you are extremely unlikely to contract your carbon footprint as much as is necessary to limit global warming to 1.5º because the monetary economy requires you to grow, not contract nor even just maintain, your consumption levels. Furthermore, as soon as you depend on any one product of industrial capitalism, you are dependent on the whole filthy, exploitative, growth-dependent, global infrastructure necessary to get that one artefact to you for your pleasure, convenience, business or so-called health. And the system owns you too – even if you are one of the lucky ones who is not in debt.

I think it may be all or nothing, but stepping outside of all this alone is nigh-impossible; stepping out of it with others is very much hard enough. Yet staying in it is disastrous; staying partially in it, torturous. Our ships are sinking at different rates, depending on how high up the capitalist pyramid you already are. With talent and privilege like the cultural capital I have, I could elbow enough of you out of the way, capitalist-style, and climb up over you to get higher up the pyramid, but what choice is this?

Instead I’m inviting you to join me on a lifeboat of our own making to go and build something different; something truly sustainable; something that will stay standing when all else collapses.

Does our society make sense to you? Does capitalism work for you, morally and spiritually as well as materially? Does your life make sense as it is?

Do you want to own land? Do you already own too much land and wish to sell or give away a little, or co-operativise it?

The lifeboat looks like this.

October oak: economics of craft and art

…truly sustainable economics are different again, but since I’m still operating in the logic of capitalism rather than subsistence, here is an economy of scale compelled by capitalism but restrained by integrity…

I’m on a mission to streamline my business a bit for cost-effectiveness (because it’s swim or sink; there’s seldom an enduring just-stay-afloat option in a growth-based economics).

Up until now one of my slow-factors has been my practice of varying style and design much more than I can financially afford to do. For efficiency, much as I believe in resisting that drive, I need to be less artist and more producer.

I’m intending to reduce the number of different garments and different style garments I make in order to concentrate on a narrower, more cohesive, range or two. Colour patterns will also need to be more streamlined.

This is less fun for me, as I love constant innovation and experimentation. But constant innovation takes time and energy, both creative and technical: time and energy that I should be putting into making and selling more quantity.

Now, don’t worry, I will never go commercial or race to the bottom: I’m just talking about a little upscale to small cottage industry production – if I can even call it that as a sole trader working in a tiny home. I’m trying to hone designs that are interesting for me to make, and content myself with quickly weaving up a batch (between four and ten) of identical, rather than varied garments.

This allows me to save time in another of the slowest steps too: the photographing and listing. Currently one varied batch (30′ of cloth) is likely to take the best part of a day to model and photograph on me and close up, then up to an additional day to edit the ~50 best of the ~150 photos, then another few half days to create the listings, then a few hours on a few subsequent days for marketing here on social media. (Variables at play here are weather, location, personal vibrancy for modelling, and health: holding a digital camera against my forehead gives my brain a jolt and leaves me feeling carsick since the magnetic field flashes high with the shutter; computer time is even more debilitating…) I can probably halve production time in these steps, and then I at a certain point (not too far off now) I won’t have to keep putting my prices up.

So here you see the results of a dyeing experiment as I work out whether there’s a quicker way to achieve fine, organic-looking, irregular stripes more quickly than in my previous method of varying the yarns as I wind 9000′ of warp (by the way, that’s the heigh at which a buzzard soars on a clear day with good thermals).

This dip-dyeing technique will give me less control in the warp-winding-design step, but more surprise, which is often even more gratifying.

Since it took the whole month of September, including some weekends, to hand-dye just five kilos of wool, so far it’s not looking like a quicker method, BUT a) five kilos is five batches, making warp for 20 ponchos, or 100 snugs (that’s a lot, aaargh!); b) this is the first time I’ve done dip-dyeing, and I only had a sudden window of opportunity to do it and no planning time, so as is often my wont, I was winging it a bit; c) being practically incapable of non-improvisation, I used lots of different dyestuffs for five different, very varied, batches of 1kg each or less (instead of concentrating on doing one big batch with no time-consuming variables and mistakes); d) I GOT SOME GREAT RESULTS!

Here you see experiments with rhubarb leaf mordant, tansy, dandelion and onion skin dye, plus an alkalising modifier of washing soda to intensify the rusts and green the yellows. ‘October Oak’. There are four ponchos of it for sale in my shop NOW, all in British Jacob wool that was unbleached and undyed until I put my borrowed-garden plants to it.


In my last post I introduced a new limited edition range of slim, unisex neckerchiefs with ties. Here are some more pictures of those, plus an introduction to the double thickness, bulkier, thermal version. All handwoven in lambswool and finer than my other weavings to date, the double thickness ones are large and square, like a small blanket scarf. However, there are only a few and I may not make any more, so if one grabs you, hurry to the checkout straight away!

None of these is as sustainable as I would wish, nor as cost-effective as I’d hoped, and these two neckerchief designs are too labour intensive to continue without a price hike. But because I love this style, and since my shop needs some garments at ‘entry level’ prices, I may find an alternative design one winter in a local yarn – which would be more expensive for me to buy but if it’s thicker it’s less labour-intensive to work (a UK living wage is the most expensive part of production costs).

So for now, there is just a small splay of both designs that I’ve listed in the ‘scarves, snugs, snoods, cowls‘ section of These Isles’ shop.

Internationalist localism

International Women’s Day 2021. The day after my birthday. The moor that spawned me. The Nepali-based friend who was born here too. A beautiful hound. A winter-worn brackenscape. Some wholesome cloth.

Limited edition lambswool neckerchiefs new in the These Isles shop. Superb images by super-pro Alice Carfrae. Some upmarket styling care of my Italian roots. Provenance woven in as standard.

Makership as your act of resistance?

Does a craft livelihood make intuitive sense to you, but not economic sense? Do you want to do something like I do? Not that it’s right for everyone, but…

Dave Darby of the fantastic interviewed me last week on how I got going as a professional handweaver, how I get by, and how we can change economics to truly work for local craft livelihood. Like me, he would like to see the revival of the once and future village in which local needs are met by local people using local resources, local skills and local (positive only) currency.

Meantime we can transition by using digitech to join forces around the world and grow the ideas amongst far-flung like-minds until we reach a critical mass or capitalism reaches a critical collapse (whichever is the sooner, it’s a bit of a race! But did you know that a generic critical mass is estimated to be only around 3% – easily achievable!) This video is part I, with parts II and III forthcoming. I really recommend subscribing to the lowimpact blog and joining that most visionary community – it’s full of bottom-up solutions to most of our current global crises.

Join us!

Smaller, better, slower, less

Being a(n over-educated) peasant struggling to find enough natural habitat to survive in undisturbed by the ravages of capitalism, I have naturally always been concerned about our impact on the living world, for its sake as well as mine. I’m increasingly concluding that the way of life I’ve always aspired to – self-sufficiency – is the best response to our modern crisis, since I understand that crisis as biosphere breakdown caused by too many industrialists. 

The problem is that industrialism requires, creates and maintains – and then requires, creates and maintains, in an exponentially-ever-hungrier vicious circle – more industrialists than this planet can sustain. Such is the dynamic of capitalism, which some argue began with the advent of agriculture (the first land enclosure) in the no-longer-fertile crescent some 12,000 years ago, and which can be understood as being locked in place now by our modern debt-based monetary system. (Unless this gives way to positive monetary systems, we’re screwed. A tech-fix is like an arms race: ever escalating, and at best, replacing biological life with electronic life. Is there any more horrifying prospect than that?) 

And, having multiplied even after our lands have been grabbed from us, we cannot now all go back to the land, as revolutionary Mark Boyle points out. (His book, ‘The Way Home; tales from a life without technology’, is the most beautiful solace and solution I have ever read – the one of which I’ve always dreamed – if, devastatingly, not possible for all of us, and pretty damn hard for most of us.)

So in 2014, on the brink of making a leap out of the rat race in which even the lovely Higher Education races to the bottom in the ever-tightening capitalist squeeze, I designed a business that would help sustain a smallholding life. As my regular readers will know, paradoxically I had to fly from the rental smallholding-on-which-I-was-not-smallholding in order to cut my living costs to get a labour-intensive smallholding-friendly business off the ground. Even seven years on this business would still not afford me a rental smallholding, let alone one of my own, nor leave any leftover time/energy for the full-time job of smallholding. (No surprises there: everyone has always said that, at the very least, you have to own your own land outright – and presumably occupy the whole family on it.)

So, broadly speaking, the obvious conclusion is that in general one EITHER spends one’s time on direct survival (foraging, hunting, growing, cooking, making and heating one’s home) OR on earning money to pay other people to do this for you so that you barely get to enjoy your home and completely forget how to survive, living a longer, less healthy life on the back of others’ industrial labour. And their industrial labour is a very far cry from the wholesome foraging, hunting, growing, cooking, making and heating of old, isn’t it.

Says Boyle: ‘yes, it’s important not to romanticise the past, but be [bloody] careful not to romanticise the future, either.’ Or the present, I would add. Being electrohypersensitive, my kind would be the first to die off in an AI future. I’m pretty sure I know which kind of era you, my readers, would more readily accept, tackle, and thrive in, too.

And there isn’t time or energy in the day for both direct-survival and business-as-means-of-survival, on the whole. Not for one person, and not if you want to do them both well, i.e. sustainably. Sustainability in my world requires doing things yourself, slowly, by hand. In production, as in education, healthcare and other sectors I’m sure, economies of scale are too often economies of ethics.

So I’m facing, as ever, and as we all are, really big life questions that threaten the future of my business, my home and my very existence. I don’t yet know what I’ll do, but since I’ve been facing these things for years and finding creative workarounds, I will probably continue these crazy contortions and you will still be hearing from me yetawhile.

Meantime, drop in the ocean though my micro-business is, I’ve drawn up a chart for more accountability regarding its sustainability, and scored myself on my different products, including drawing a generic comparison with the products of both larger, ethically-minded businesses and much larger, mainstream corporations. It’s broad brush, but I hope it is both informative and thought-provoking nonetheless. Textiles is a foul industry, on the whole, and fashion is the third most polluting after oil and agriculture. 

Greater sustainability is always possible in theory, but, depending on how you weight the environmental and social factors (which in turn depends on your subjective understanding of capitalism – and even of life and death, come to that!), These Isles is fairly high-scoring, as you’d expect. See what you think on my new ‘Sustainability’ page. 

My forthcoming products will be labelled with my own star rating, and the first batch (ponchos) is the highest I can presently achieve at four and a half stars out of five. Here‘s the first one, and please follow my shop for nine more appearing in the next few days and weeks.

Ponchos, or thereabouts

Fun with a photoshoot in a late summer field, to give you a taste of These Isles weavings coming up for sale in my Etsy shop soon: next up, eight ponchos in mostly artisan British yarns, some undyed, some handspun, some plant dyed, and some dyed in sea colours – plus one with some wholesome Himalayan nettle yarn from a small import business in my local market which buys direct from the gnarly women spinners in the rugged Nepali mountains. (They use their teeth with drop spindles as they tramp the mountain paths.)

Stay tuned for the listings appearing over the next few weeks as those of us in the northern hemisphere prepare ourselves for autumn.



PS Please don’t say you want the plain dark brown (Hebridean) one (the last one) – I’m keeping that one for myself. But please do say if you love it as I’ll bear you in mind to maybe make some more like it.

Craft economics and housing crisis: why I do what I do the crazy way that I do

I’ve spent the summer developing the most sustainable product my itinerant business can feasibly produce: ponchos made from all-British, mostly undyed, artisan wool. They’re not in fancy colours, they’re not super-soft, and they’re not going to be cheap. (You already know that.) But they are handsome and wholesome in every way (you know that too). I will launch them in the next month or so, so keep an eye here and in my shop. Meantime…

Last week I was interviewed by Devon Live reporter Frankie Mills who’s one of a team investigating how the national housing crisis afflicts our rural county. My particular story is highly idiosyncratic, but in essence the story is the same the world over. The issues behind it concern every person and creature on this planet. To explain in brief:

Buying a home in (my native) Devon countryside on an average income has not been possible for some decades. A local craft business can barely even achieve an average income since global capitalism means we’re always outcompeted by cheap, industrialised labour in poorer countries.

So if your main skills are not managerial but hands-on; if your ethics value local over imports; and if your mental health requires rural life and self-employment, you are likely to live at the behest of far wealthier landowners (who are also the only few who can even begin to afford your services or wares, even though they’re only produced at minimum wage, max).

That means being a lodger, or living in a caravan (my parents’ neighbour charges some £400 pcm for a pitch on his land, which is about a quarter of an average wage here), or a rental house share. Which may be acceptable when you’re very young, but not when you’re middle aged, have health issues, or are trying to sustain a family, or a professional career – or even just a craft business.

And of course this situation only worsens as long as neoliberalism concentrates wealth yet further so that modest people in all walks of life are more and more squeezed.

This is acutely felt in a county like Devon where the rich-poor divide is extreme and the modest are less and less able to participate in society.

It is not poverty, but wealth, that is the problem: not poverty, but the poverty gap that cripples. (Debt is obviously only an interim solution that in most cases makes your situation worse.)

How can those (most of us) priced out of access to land ever hope to minimise our carbon footprint and environmental impact whilst maximising our positive social impact if we can’t afford a simple, self-sufficient life with autonomy and rights?

It’s estimated that the global 1% (and that includes vandweller-me here in the West) is currently responsible for some 70-odd% of environmental destruction worldwide, and that each of us is sustained by sixteen workers (basically, slaves) around the world.

Our planet may be able to sustain about a billion long-living, industrial capitalists in material comfort, or about ten billion shorter-lived, more self-sufficient peasants on the land. But not both, and not more.

By that reckoning, a billion long-living, industrial capitalists need either sixteen billion short-living, urban-caged workers to sustain them, or a web of machines as complex as the current web of life, with the sixteen billion dead.

Maybe if that billion, long-living, industrial capitalist group served by an unimaginably complex web of machines trod very lightly, biological life on our planet would come back from the brink to rewild around them. But that’s a pretty big ‘if’, isn’t it?

So that’s the sixteen billion AND the biosphere dead. Neither Gates nor Bezos wants that. They probably also know that they would not enjoy life on Mars.

So what to do?

Personally, I’m emigrating to wherever I can afford my own garden with a shed to live in without enslaving anyone but myself. Though of course my relative wealth in that place will adversely affect that local land market in this stinking pyramid-scheme economics. Ouch.

That’s what we have to change, before it’s too late. This stinking pyramid-scheme economics. #changemoneychangetheworld!


With apologies for how boring my blog is without the travel tales nowadays, but with good news for you of a seasonal offer…

After a (predictably) slow winter season in which people were understandably cautious about buying expensive handmade goods, I’m having an end-of-season sale. For the month of April, I’m offering all weavings under £150 for 50% less. This includes around 15 snugs and a couple of scarves that may find good homes in the last of this chilly weather (or so it is in SW England, anyway). It is better for me to have a £2 hourly wage than none! (Although big life changes are afoot as clearly this is wholly unsustainable in pricey Britain.)

Bear in mind that while the snuggest wintry snugs are good against wind chill, the looser-fitting snugs and cowls are good for the shoulder seasons and any cool outdoor evening too. Naturally these garments will all last for years.

So if cost has held you back, please then please enjoy this discount. Simply browse all These Isles weavings priced at £150 and below, and apply the following coupon code at checkout: ENDOFSEASONHALFPRICE

Please note that this offer cannot be combined with any other offer, and only applies to weavings within this price range. However, you can also buy two snugs worth under £150 each and still get the discount on both of them, i.e. two for the price of one.Happy April, and thank you for your loyalty, which keeps me going!

My shop:

A history of These Isles in 12 minutes, including political analysis (of course)

Live interview on IGTV for the Digital Craft Festival March 2021. I start at 37 minutes, and address issues of craft livelihood and anti-growth economics, from the personal to the macro. Naturally!