IN his latest instalment of Living Made Simple, MARTIN FOSTER plugs us into his off-grid life – but from a very on-grid perspective.
I N an ironic twist of fate, I am writing this column about living off-grid from an oh-so-on-grid flat in London. The deadline just happens to coincide with me visiting my daughter in Lambeth and the (now more widely experienced) joys of working from home – or from someone else’s – mean I’m sat on her sofa, surrounded by technology and looking down on a busy London street. I’m hoping it will give me a heightened level of objectivity. I’m also hoping I won’t be too distracted by a planned trip to Tate Modern this afternoon.
I thought I’d say a little about why I live off-grid and then briefly explore the practicalities of everyday life unplugged. The reasons why are best explained by a short list of its merits: low-impact and sustainable; simple and inexpensive; self-sufficient and consciousness-raising. Okay, so that last one might sound a little too deep and cosmic for some tastes, but actually it’s a very grounded consequence – simply, I no longer take for granted the provision of light, heat or refrigeration at the flick of a switch. And when you don’t take something for granted, when you do something more consciously, you are also more aware of the consequences of its creation and use. The low-impact bit is self-evident, I think; its simplicity will become evident in a moment (and, as is often the case with simpler living, should not be confused with ease or convenience); the cost is determined mainly by the sophistication of the system you install (mine is very simple); and the level of self-sufficiency clearly depends on how many individual services (electricity, water, gas…) you are able to provide for yourself.
My electricity is generated by four solar panels, mounted on the roof of my heavily insulated wooden cabin, which feed, via an inverter, into two meaty lead/acid batteries. The system is simple, high quality and effective. The four secondhand panels I originally fitted as a cost-saving exercise have now been replaced with new, more efficient ones, and I have adequate power for all I need: low-watt lights, phone and laptop recharging and running a small fridge. Whether the system will sustain the latter over the winter remains to be seen and while there will certainly be a calculation to work it out, it is beyond me so I’ll wait and see. And that makes a relevant point (apart from proving my ineptitude at arithmetic and physics) – if you get the right system installed in the first place, you aren’t tempted to plug in some energy- hungry equipment and you keep an eye on things (ie, checking the battery condition meter when we have a few dull days), it really is easy to live with. In the event of any problems, I contact Chris Rudge (rudgeenergy.co.uk), who specialises in off-grid solar systems and always has the answers (although he didn’t do the original installation – that company went bust).
I am also off the water grid. The freshwater supply for the whole smallholding comes from a borehole, created by a specialist company when the owners first moved onto the land. It’s worth saying here, though, that the pump which brings the water up out of the ground and into the tank, where it is filtered and UV-treated before supplying our homes and outside taps (for poultry, animals and crops) is very, very power-hungry and consumes a disproportionate amount of the electricity generated by even their much bigger solar panel array. I also have a compost toilet, which separates wee and poo – the former into a simple, underground soakaway, the latter into a large receptacle, where you cover it with a sprinkling of sawdust. Unlike conventional mains loos, it does not use gallons of drinking-quality water to wash it away, and the composted ‘humanure’ is returned to the land.
Heating is courtesy of a small (it’s a one-room cabin, remember) wood- burning stove and we buy firewood collectively in unsawn, unsplit chunks (probably not the correct, industry- recognised term), and then come together to cut, split and stack them in late-summer sessions.
A brief sidebar here regarding the importance of properly seasoned logs: if you buy or cut wood which is not seasoned (ie, which has not been left out for a long period of time to allow its moisture to evaporate), you will literally be trying to burn water and sap, which even my limited knowledge of physics rings alarm bells. It will create less heat, of course, but also more emissions and messy, and potentially dangerous, tar deposits in the chimney. Depending on the wood, seasoning can take one, two, or even more, years, so either buy it ready seasoned, or be prepared, and have space, to stack it for a good while. Kiln-dried logs are one answer but have a larger carbon footprint because of the heat required – and carry a higher price as a consequence.
My strongest link with mainstream energy supplies is the propane gas I have delivered in large (47kg) bottles and which I use for hot water and cooking. There is, however, something about the fact that when one bottle is empty, you need to switch it over to the spare and then order a replacement, that keeps one aware of consumption.
On-grid life here at my daughter’s is easy and convenient. But my conscience will sit more comfortably when I return home to my cabin – even if it is a seriously long walk from the Tate… The lost cord… unplugged IN his latest instalment of Living Made Simple, MARTIN FOSTER plugs us into his off-grid life – but from a very on-grid perspective. Living made simple… Martin