Robert’s Studio

Robert leans his tall frame over the tangerine, 2000 degree heat of the glass furnace and peers in as he collects a molten glob of glass on the end of his blowpipe.  He rolls the long, hollow metal tube in his fingers to keep the batch centered and get rid of drips—this process is called “gathering” and resembles scooping honey out of a jar with a chopstick.

Robert’s glass blowing studio is very warm: about 95 degrees.  Outside, a harsh winter wind scrapes across the window panes, whipping up stinging granules of snow and dirt into the chalky gray sky.  Robert walks over to a nearby steel table, twirling the pipe continuously.  He begins to shape the cherry red mass, rolling it at an angle back and forth across the surface.  This process, called marvering, edges the glass toward the end of the pipe while simultaneously cooling and firming the sides.  Robert brings the end of the blowpipe to his mouth and lets out an abrupt “pwuh” before quickly capping the end.  The air is thus trapped inside the pipe.  Because oxygen expands very rapidly at high temperatures, it takes only a small blow to create a bubble inside the blob of glass.  The bloom of air navigates its way along the hardened sides toward to the tip, an effect Robert needs for this specific project.

We are helping Robert to fashion chandelier arms for an exhibition at the Jewish Museum in New York City.  We have only a few days to make six arms to replace the six broken ones that arrived from a factory in China earlier that week.  Interestingly, Robert commissions the majority of his mass produced glassware to the Chinese, something he says he has to do in order to stay in business.  Still, the show must go on, and we need to find a way to replicate the remaining unbroken arms.

Robert slides open the door to a second furnace, called the glory hole.  He inserts the rapidly cooling glass into the shimmering blaze, spinning the pipe on two metal bearings.  Dry heat pours over my face as Maggie and I scurry around trying to anticipate steps in this dance we do not know.  Once the surface of the glass has been sufficiently heated, Robert strides over to the bench.  The spinning orb casts orange shards of lights onto his face and shirt.  He begins rolling the pipe back and forth along two flat metal runners situated on either side just above his belly button.  The bench resembles a surgeon’s table, with a variety of tools at his hips.  Robert molds the glass with blocks (wooden implements dipped in water), cups it, stretches it, pinches it, and snips it to his liking.

I turn on a blow torch and begin heating a metal form resting on the marver (the steel table).  I sweep my arm back and forth, trying my best to evenly heat the aluminum arch.  In my periphery, I can discern Robert and Maggie’s forms weaving to and from various parts of the studio: Robert gathers, marvers, blows, reheats, forms, flattens, and elongates at the bench, reheats, and blows downwards into a three-pronged form that gives the arm its ridges.  Maggie trails him; opening and shutting doors, wetting the forms, and blowing into the pipe as needed.  Pain creeps into my limbs as I methodically wash the marver with whooshing fire.

Finally, Robert removes the glass, now a bulbous, triangular mass, from the glory hole, swings the pipe up and hangs it on a hook from the ceiling.  Maggie hands him the shears, I turn away from the superheated form with the blowtorch ready.  Robert begins pulling, stretching; the glass droops like taffy.  I apply the flame to areas that are too thick.  Robert grasps the pipe in one hand and the shears holding the tip in the other, and swiftly lays the curving arm onto the metal form.  I continue to blast the thick spots with fire while Robert pulls on both sides.  He then dips the shears in a water bucket, applies a few drops to the end of the pipe, and with a single strike, the glass comes loose.  Maggie is prepared; she hands him a pair of super insulated gloves to grab the piece.  I hurry over, open the annealer, and Robert carefully places the arm next to our three previous attempts.

Note: An aneeler is a type of furnace which cools the glass at a very slow rate, in order to prevent cracking or breaking from “thermal stress.”

The Green Mountain State

On my two or three previous visits to Vermont, I’ve noticed something very peculiar: there are very few strip malls.  In fact, the Green Mountain State doesn’t seem to very commercial at all.  Many of the small towns that I’ve seen have only one or two stores, and are connected by long stretches of 2-lane highway flanked with nothing but thick groves of evergreens.

There aren’t much in the way of sprawling developments either.  Driving through the Vermont countryside, one passes small, snow covered dwellings; the majority of them have either a barn, a tool shed, a greenhouse, a fenced garden, or all four.  Every house has a neatly stacked pile of wood somewhere under cover.  There are various tractors, mowers, trucks, truck parts, and other farm equipment casually strewn about most yards.  It’s obviously agricultural land, but something else is different: there is little or no obvious poverty.  Vermont inhabitants seem to have carved out a lifestyle for themselves that is both rugged and prosperous.

West Townshend Country Store, a community project where we’ve been helping run pizza night with live entertainment.

Robert Dugrenier seems to me to be a classic Vermonter.  He is a do-it-all type; loves the outdoors, runs a farm, and owns a glass blowing and design studio.   His farm is situated on top of a hill just north of West Townshend, which is located 45 minutes north of the Massachusetts border.  Maggie and I are working with Robert for the duration of the maple sugaring season, collecting and boiling down sap as well as learning to blow glass.

Robert, a glass blower by trade, moved to the farm with his wife Kathy in the mid-90’s from New York City.  Since then, he has accumulated a host of different animals including peacocks, pheasants, a camel (no longer there), llamas, emus, sheep, donkeys, mini-horses, a rare breed of cow, chickens, ducks, and rabbits.  He also grows vegetables and a native strain of wheat (called a land race).  Taft Hill Farm can best be described as a hobby farm, because Robert and his family don’t rely on the profits, meat, or vegetables produced by the farm in order to survive.  Instead, he supports the farm with his design, fabrication and glass blowing studio.  Robert has been incredibly successful with this, and is well known in the art world for his award designs, perfume bottles, chandeliers, and his own invention: glass hermit crab shells.

 

Our first day at Taft Hill I had a photo shoot with hermits

Aside from his studio work and running the farm, Robert has been very involved in setting up a general store in West Townshend (its only store) and organizing a weekly farmers’ market and pizza night on the premises.

Like Robert, the entire state of Vermont seem to be environmentally conscious.  Brattleboro, the biggest nearby town, has the largest organic co-op we’ve ever seen.  It’s basically a grocery store, except it offers local and organic produce in season.  The “‘Green’ Mountain State” is an apt title—-buying local is a way of life here.  Why are Vermonters this way?  Perhaps its a combination of the uniquely beautiful environment, a hard-earned lifestyle, and an appreciation for the sweeter things in life (maple syrup, of course).

Tapping trees for sap

Heating a Home with a Wood Stove

Farmer Dan’s two-story, 3-bedroom house is kept warm by a single wood stove, located in a central room of the first floor.  Don’t believe me?

Sometimes, it gets too hot in the house, and that’s only when it’s above 20 degrees.

There are several reasons why owning a wood stove is a good idea:

1.  It’s very useful to have a constant fire going in your home.  You can stand by it and get warm quickly after spending time out in the cold.  You can lay wet boots, gloves, and jackets nearby to dry out for your next adventure out in the wintry landscape.  You can put a pot of water on top of the stove for tea.  And most importantly, a wood stove brings people together in a place where they can actually socialize, instead of vacantly staring at a television screen.

2.  It’s sustainable.  So long as you can keep the wood coming (really, you can amass A LOT of wood in about 2 days’ worth of chainsawing, hauling, splitting, and stacking), you will have a (mostly) free, and clean source of heat.  What’s that you say?  Doesn’t burning wood put carbon dioxide back into the air and thus contribute to global warming?  No, not necessarily.  All of the carbon that is locked up inside the tree and released when it is burned is equivalent to the amount of carbon the tree initially drew out of the environment.  And although you can burn a log a lot faster than you can grow one, it is nothing compared to the amount of carbon dioxide released by fossil fuels, which was collected and stored over millions of years.  You can grow new trees, but you can’t grow diesel.  Moral is, if you’re growing more wood then you’re burning, you’ve got a renewable source of heat.

3.  It’s efficient.  Modern wood stoves are designed to recirculate combustible materials and burn at a higher heat, so everything gets used up.  In general, wood stoves are about four times as efficient as an open fireplace and have a thermal efficiency of around 80%.  Dan’s wood stove churns out enough warmth to consistently heat his 100-year old house all night long (without having to add wood throughout the night). In addition, a wood stove allows you to heat a space exactly when and where you need it, which saves money.

4.  It’s safe.  Because a wood stove is an enclosed system, it’s safe to leave the fire going at night, and it produces very little smoke, ash or particulate if handled correctly.  It’s not totally fool-proof—you can burn your house down—but a properly maintained stove is about as safe as using any oven.

5.  It’s cheap.  The initial cost of the wood stove + installation + however much you pay for wood.  Many people have access to wood for free, but if you need to buy wood, it costs roughly 1/3 of the next cheapest fossil fuel.  Furthermore, you won’t be relying on large evil corporations to heat your home, and in the event of a power outage or gas shortage, you can still stay warm!

6.  It’s charming.  Who doesn’t love sitting in front of a cozy fire gazing out the window at a snow-covered landscape?

As you can see, I’m totally sold.   If you live in a temperate, timber-rich area, there’s really no reason not to do it!

Some of my information was taken from this site: http://rikravado.hubpages.com/hub/Ten-Reasons-to-Burn-Wood.

The Decrepit Barn

Dan, Eric, Maggie and I squeezed into Dan’s tiny red pickup.  A fine snow began to fall, mixing with the earthy browns and grays of the surrounding hills.  The four of us pulled out of the driveway; we were on our way to go pick up old hay from a rapidly deteriorating barn a mile down the road.

This is the basement through that dark doorway above. Most of the supporting beams are broken. The whole thing is held together by the hay stuffed inside the barn.

Not too long ago, the barn was beautiful and in great shape—made of stout hickory beams held together with wooden pegs and sheltered by a thick, corrugated metal roof.  This barn was built around 1910, and in a similar manner to all the barns in the area, including Dan’s.  It sits on roughly 220 acres of unused land.  According to Dan, the property was owned by an elderly farmer.  He had 4 children—all of which moved away from the country and became CEO’s in different cities.  When the farmer died, he parceled the land out evenly to his kids.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t work it out between themselves to either sell the property or find a way to care for it, so now the house, barn, and various outlying structures sit, gradually succumbing to nature.  To make matters worse, inside the barn was an estimated 20,000 bales of fresh-cut hay.  At 3-4 dollars per bale, they would’ve sold for up to $80,000! Instead, they began to rot.  Each wind storm blows off another set of roof panels, exposing the massive mountain of stale hay to moisture.

In certain areas where the roof of the barn is intact there are still crisp bales to be found.  We use them on the farm as bedding for the pigs and for mulching in between rows of crops.

Walking around the old barn is a harrowing experience.  In many places, only a layer or two of interlocked bales separate you from a nasty fall onto the lowest level of the barn.  One side of the barn offers a nice view of the countryside through a gaping hole in the siding.  The juxtaposition of slanting, splintered wood silhouetted against the snow-dusted rolling hillocks was striking.  Once we’d filled up the bed of the pickup truck, we piled in once more and made our way back to the farm.  Unfortunately, the state of this particular barn is not at all unlike many farms in Bedford County, Pennsylvania, and in the United States.

The Pig Feed

The alarm goes off.

5 minutes later, it goes off again.  I roll over and peer out the window over my sleeping neighbor.  Magenta-rimmed clouds are clustered at one end of the horizon, shattered into irregular triangles by the stark black branches of a nearby tree.  Beyond the clouds, a gold-tinged blue begins to march across its daily battleground.

 

 

Shannon, making the pigs’ breakfast

Dressed in layers and temporarily satiated by a grainy piece of toast and jam, I stumble out of the porch door and trudge towards the barn.  After the buckets are full of feed and water, we all hop in the Kawasaki.  I hang off one side, securely gripping the roll bar.

We’re flying down the main road, wind blasting in my face.  All eyes are steady on on the ridge just beyond our turn off, scanning for oncoming traffic.

The Kawasaki slows to a halt in front of “the gang of 2’s” pen.  These pigs are headed for commercial slaughter next week.  The gang of 2 are especially nice; they were bottle fed because their mother was near death after 8 of her 12 piglets were still-born.

We move on to Bo’s pen.  He shares his plot of forest with two mates and four daughters, whom he couples with whenever they are in heat.  Bo is a 1300 pound hulking, hairy mass of friendly pig.  All except Bo cluster around the edge of the fence, making high-pitched squeals of hunger. Bo is inert, resting his bulk just outside of their crude, three-sided den.  The wwoofers are deployed: one checks fence lines, one sets troughs on dry, sturdy ground, and another comes hurrying in on carefully guided feet to pour feed before the pigs realize what’s happening—no such luck.  Water is added to each trough to ensure the pigs get their daily requirement of H2O.  Bo saunters over to join the others; their giant, hairy torsos convulse as they scarf down the soupy, pulverized soy, corn, and wheat mixture.  At times they snap and screech at one another, but for the most part eat their fill in peace.

This is Bo.

We move to the last two pens: Aggie, Juniper, and Strawberry’s and their offspring’s.  Aggie is a boar with a nasty disposition compared to Bo.  He is gaunt, harsh-looking and his back is permanently arched from an injury he received from over-copulating.  A hurt pig is an unhappy pig, and Aggie is never hesitant to bite the hand that feeds.  Dan says that his days are numbered.  His mean streak is also due in part to his lineage—Aggie is half Arkansas Razorback (wild pig).  The group of 9 juveniles are especially pushy.  All are male except for one beautiful black hog: Princess Kate Middleton.  We move quickly and cautiously around Aggie; while we work he tries to stare down the males in the group, pawing the ground aggressively.  Aggie has sinceproven that 3 taut lines of electrically-charged fencing is not enough to hold him.

Fluffy McFluffington and Princess Kate Middleton

We depart in our off-road vehicle, watching the pigs guzzle down their energy for the day.  Dead, knobby trees litter the forest floor on either side of the narrow dirt road.  Some of these carbon-rich trees will provide our heat for many cold nights to come.

An Introduction

One day of warm weather is all pig needs to be happy!

Dan Earnest lives nestled next to a ridge a few miles south of a town called Clearville.  The tiny hamlet is aptly named—since we’ve arrived, the vast majority of days have offered panaromic views of the crisply outlined rocky spine and gently rolling hills buried in snow.  The air seems fresher; the space is wide open.

The farmhouse is a clean, white structure with three straight red chimneys, built circa 1901.  On the property, there is a small cabin for Wwoofers and a large, sturdy barn overlooking a small pond.  One of the first things that struck me about Buckland Farm was the level of organization and neatness maintained in all areas of the farm.  I was used to visiting farms that were in various states of disarray.  Like his farm, Dan is extremely organized and meticulous.  He tries his hardest to run the farm in a methodical manner, with great attention to detail, because he knows that is the best way to make a living and avoid having accidents.

WWoof cabin

Trail through the woods where the piggies live.

With the addition of 19 piglets, there are now more than 50 pigs on the farm.  When we first visited, Dan explained his practice of raising pigs humanely, by allowing them space to move and forage in their natural habitat (the woods), and constantly socializing them.  Not only are these methods better for our health and for the environment, but it’s obvious that he truly cares about the animals.  Acknowledging that these pigs have led full, complex lives while providing us with sustenance is a humbling and somewhat spiritual realization.  That being said, we still have not observed or participated in the slaughtering process.  In my opinion, it is the only way to be completely sure that eating meat is congruous with our natures.  Much of the slaughtering happens on farm, where the meat is then processed into bacon, lard and sausage.

Bees better be keeping themselves warm.

In addition to raising pigs, Dan grows 2 acres of organically-raised vegetables for sale to local farmer’s markets, restaurants, and stores.  There are 2 other Wwoofers living on the property: Eric and Shannon.

Eric is always doing research on his tiny iphone screen and Shannon is always cooking up something tasty.

Buck

Kaya is patiently waiting for spring.

Kaya the dog, three cats (one of which is Buck, whom the farm is named after), and 22 chickens round out the list of hairy and feathered beasts existing on the farm.  The space and house still feels new, but it is beginning to feel more and more like home everyday.

Annabelle

A New Year (And New Life)

Despite Dan’s predictions that Poppy was going to give birth at any moment (she was exhibiting all of the signs: pacing, aggressively building a nest), she seemed to be putting off the actual physical act.  The rest of the wwoofers and I would walk down into the space under the barn each morning, expecting to see a pile of piglets squirming under the heat lamps—each morning, there were none.

New Years’ Eve Day: Eric continued walking us through the process of making sausage.  The day before we had sliced up ham and mixed it with pig fat.  The meat-fat mixture was then coated in a seasoning and allowed to sit for 24 hours.  We began our second day of sausage making by putting the slices through a grinder.  Once we had gotten the spice level right (after a few taste tests), we began tightly packing the ground-up meat into the stuffer.   A hand crank powered a circular plate which pressed down on the meat, squeezing it out through a small tube at the bottom of the stuffer.  The meat filled up long lengths of hog intestines called casings which were slid delicately onto the tube.  Lastly, after tying off the end, the long sausage was crimped and twisted at regular intervals to create the “links.”  Maggie and I experienced a few “breaks” during twisting, but overall, it was not too difficult.

While Maggie, Eric and I worked, we received several calls and emails from friends confirming that they were coming to Dan’s house to celebrate the new year with a huge bonfire in the back field.  As the work day progressed, visitors slowly trickled in.  The wwoofers prepared a large meal with pork shoulder, roasted vegetables from the farm, sausages we made that day, and fancy cheese.

Dan has surrounded himself with warm, friendly people who care deeply about the farm and its success.

Eventually, the group made their way out to the back field where the bonfire was going to be.  Before we left, Dan, Maggie, Eric and I checked in on the expectant mother.  She was laying down on her nest, breathing heavily, and looking very pregnant.

Out in the field, it took several tries to get the fire started.  Eventually there was a roaring blaze, and everyone stood around, warmed by their conversations, their drinks and the glowing convergence of energy throwing sparks high into the winter sky.

Maggie and I walked back through the snow to the house.  The 4-wheeler had arrived with rest of the group a few minutes earlier.  When we went down to the barn, we found Dan, methodically massaging the pig’s stomach.  He had explained this tactic to me the day before, mentioning that it would help a pregnant pigwhen the time came.

The evening visitors gradually entered the barn—the last one just in time to see the first piglet arrive.  For so much build up, it happened so fast.  Over the next two hours, we watched and waited while Poppy gave birth.  We took turns massaging her stomach and holding her feet to give her something to push against (both really helped).  As soon as I would run my hands along her torso, I would feel Poppy clench up and get ready to push.  The second piglet came out at 12:01am, backwards, while Poppy was standing up.  What a way to start a new year, and a new life!

The rest of the piglets were spaced out more or less 45 minutes apart.  Eventually, Maggie and I were the only ones left.  Fortunately, we were able to save two piglets—one wasn’t breathing because it had a blockage in its mouth, and another was an incredibly difficult birth for Poppy.  She was physically exhausted, to the point of falling asleep, and the piglet had breached.  With our help (Maggie kept her awake, and I massaged her stomach), the baby pig finally came out.  The following piglet, unfortunately, was still born, likely due to the difficult passage of its predecessor.

Exhausted and pleased that Poppy had safely given birth to 9 healthy piglets, Maggie and I walked back to the house, gazing up at the brilliantly speckled night sky.

Poppin’ Piglets

Sally gave birth sometime during the night.  We don’t know when.  Eric and I managed to feed and water the two females without noticing the small pile of peach-colored, peach-fuzzed piglets squirming in one corner of the barn.  Dan discovered the pile right after we returned from feeding the rest of the pigs out in the woods.  Sally had given birth to 10 piglets, all healthy and alive.  Eric and I had strung up extension cords the day before for heat lamps in case one of the pigs gave birth.  We began setting up the lamps, but for some reason, our presence irked the new mother and she refused to nurse her babies.  The four of us returned to the house with plans to check on the piglets every 45 minutes…

I went out to check on the piglets and get a read on the temperature of the nest.  Sally and Poppy were resting near the middle of the barn, away from the squealing, hungry pile of baby pigs.  I began setting up the thermometer when I noticed that one venturesome piglet was stumbling toward its snoozing mother.  I kept an eye on it while I worked to make sure it arrived at its destination safely.  The brave little pig crawled up between the two adults—irritated, Sally and Poppy began to rise, sandwiching the piglet between them.  It began squealing sharply.  I ran over to try and pull the two pigs apart and save the piglet.  As I forced myself between the two females, the expression on the tiny piglet’s face resembled this:

The piglet dropped onto the hay, shocked, but alive.  I looked over to see more piglets making their way towards us.  Poppy lied down again while Sally wandered around pawing at hay.  The piglets crowded around their mother’s sister and began futilely sucking at her engorged nipples (she was still pregnant).  Eventually, Sally lied down next to Poppy.  With a little help, the piglets slowly reversed direction, realizing from whom nourishment was emanating.  I rearranged the babies to make sure all 10 were securely fastened to nipples, and then ran to the house to retrieve Maggie and Eric.