Foodtopia Dreaming Episode 9 Plugging the holes
We scooted off the bike paths onto a cross country MTB trail that takes us behind a grove of trees where we stash our bikes. Bending down to duck under bushes, then on all fours to a cyclone fence. A short commando crawl gets us through a cut in the fence. Cleverly disguised as a join. I look up and release we are at the back of the old Olympic pool, abandoned a few years ago because it leaked like a sieve.
The grass had grown and trees had sprouted on the disused land. The path became obvious when we stood up. The grass made way for familiar sights. Borage and chicory, wild rocket, and perpetual spring onions. The trees held shapes that look familiar, leaves that would capture sunlight to produce avocados, hazelnuts, and chestnuts.
We walk in a roundabout way through the understory and came to a massive pond. There are floating circular rafts of greenery tethered to the edges. Looking into the water I admire how clean it is, then pick up a slight smell. Not unpleasant, earthy really, like an Asian stir fry or dipping sauce poured over crisp leafy greens and root veggies.
Then I spot the fish feeding on the surface insects. The silvery skins reflecting the colours around them making for the perfect camoflage. Fin flicks some gravelly material into the water. The fish swarm, disturbing the surface. Masses of fish. It dawns on me the size of the fish farm I am standing beside.
Fin explains the aquaponics operation they have set up on the disused land. Solar cells provide power for the pumps, all the piping for the system has come from the salvage yards, rainwater is collected from the roofs of the disused pool kiosk and a lean-to they built to house the fish processing area. When the pool was drained plants grew from the cracks, indicating the location of the holes. They removed the plants and got to work filling and grouting.
They’d already set up a basic aquaponics system in ten IBC -( International Bulk Carrier) containers and knew the system of growing fish works. Most fish foods were grown on-site. A distribution system was set up for the fish and for the leafy greens grown on the rafts. Most are traded with local backyard farmers for the products they are not growing. They supply their veggies - their greens, to a local food share.
I ask Tad about the trees and grass we walked through to get here. He smiles and replies.
“We needed to grow trees quickly to stop people seeing what we were doing. We’d get up early and do the work we needed to do. We had some time on our hands so we started planting a food forest. Something that would supplement our own food but also the food shares we were working for.”
“Aren’t you concerned about security or being caught and closed down?” I ask.
“Dude that’s never going to happen. For starters, we are producing about 6 tonn of food from this operation that is going into the local food share system. You need to come and see the other reason we are unlikely to be shut down.”
We walk over to the old toilet area and machine room. A murmuring resonates. A humming rhythm. It can’t be the pumps surely. Then I hear voices. The rising sun hits us as we are about to walk through the door.
“Morning Gov’ner” sings a man crouched on his haunches smoking a rolly.
“Morning chef” responds Fin. I simply nod. Amazed at the sights, sounds, and feelings from the morning.
The murmuring builds as we walk down the corridor and I realize it’s contented snoring. Two in fact. One running in three four-time and another, deeper in four four time. Occasionally they synch.
Going through a second door opens us out into a warm dark room lit by rays of sun coming through a louvered window. A rocket stove is being fired up by a young person. Breakfast is prepared by an old man.
We sit on small stools and talk in hushed voices. Tad explains, “the homeless in our town were the only ones who saw what we were doing. They were up when we were and were inquisitive. They were often the ones we would see at the food share. They’d wink acknowledgment of our presence. We knew we could trust them. When last winter hit, we knew we had space for beds so set up this refuge.”
Breakfast bowls are presented to us by a proud cook. A wrinkled face and leathered skin house eyes that sparkle as they explain the dish. Rice fish soup with wombok, Pak Choy, fried shallots and chili oil. All local except the rice.
“Congee?” I ask.
We lock eyes and I get the answer as a joy spreads across his face.
“My favorite dish,” I say. Trying to stop the saliva from flowing out my mouth.
“Bonjour. Is breakfast ready?” Says a familiar voice from down the corridor.
“Quiet” grumbles the base snorer. “I’m sleeping.”
“You were” chuckles Manu as he pulls up a stool.
“Are you on this too Manu?” I ask.
“Yes, I’ve been helping with all the waste here since the beginning. There are no council bin collections for the site so we have to be zero waste. Now I mean zero. It’s a bit tricky as we have quite a lot of fish guts, skins, and bones, but I have worked out a 4-week quick system that ferments the fish bones into a sauce and the guts go into the center of the compost. There’s no smell, so no bugs or rodents. And you get to have a fish sauce with your congee. More?”
I add a few dashes and taste the uniqueness in the local fish sauce.
As the room lightens I make out the words mosaiced on the walls. Curious, Constructive Compassionate, Care for Earth, Care for People, Fair share. The sun hits them and the broken glass pieces provide a disco ball effect, lighting up the rest of the room. Bodies emerge and morning ablutions are performed, breakfast was eaten, and people exit. Life gets underway for the 20 or so people who slept safely last night.
I realize this is not a fish farming operation. It is a capacity-building life-sustaining underground system. Cycling home my mind is all sparkles. Just like the glass mosaic. Blown by the possibilities that Fin and Tad created with little support and a bizarre idea to transform the old Olympic pool into a vibrant support system for those who have fallen through the cracks in our wealthy society.
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