THE MUD HOME
  • Home
  • Building
    • Earthbag
    • Living Roofs
    • Gravel Foundations
    • Off-grid how to >
      • Off-Grid Prep Course
    • Earth Plaster
    • Mud as Mortar
    • Wattle and Daub
    • Lime; Hydrated, Hydraulic, and Putty
    • Mud Building Blog
  • Books
    • Dirt Witch
    • Mud Ball
    • Mud Mountain The Book
    • An Earthbag House in 7 Days?
  • About
    • Contact
  • Learn Mud
    • Courses
    • Mud Building PDF Package
    • Other Projects
  • Earth Whispering
    • Join the Earth Whispering Exploration
    • MUD MOUNTAIN

mUD MOUNTAIN BLOG

Get Mud Mountain the book.
The beginning.

Growth. And the Future of This Blog.

27/5/2016

12 Comments

 
PictureDudu's Mediterranean oak.
As I stare beyond my laptop and out of my glass door, the morning light softly hugs the leaves. I notice how the trees have surged upwards. They are great spigots of chlorophyll, mysteriously pushed on by that magic we call life. Upward. Outward. Striving to reach beyond.

Growth. It’s the ambition of existence.

Through the mud frame of my window, all is moving outward. Every twig is now a rash of green flourishes. Every trunk thicker and rougher than before. Even my Mediterranean oak is no longer the scraggy shrub it was when I arrived. I’ve Celal to thank for that.
​
“Aye if you cut all the limbs back at the ground, and leave juss one, it’ll grow into a tree. Juss like that one over there in Dudu’s land.”

I’d stared at Dudu’s oak in bewilderment that day. I couldn’t see how the mess of brambles before me could ever evolve into that. But it has. Or at least, it’s well on the way. Growing. Ever higher.

Everything in nature grows. We humans have observed this pattern and created our own systems to mirror it; economic, personal, vocational. Unfortunately something was lost in translation. We have understood growth as ‘bigness’, and ‘more’. Thus we join the modern accumulation race. A race we never win.

Growth isn’t just a larger, more numerous repetition of the same thing. No. That’s not how nature does things. For Gaia, growth doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with size or quantity (though a careless glance might misconstrue it that way). Growth can be reproduction. But it can also be adaptation. Or integration. Or evolution. It can be increased complexity, depth and sensitivity too. In the case of metamorphosis, growth is the manifestation of an entirely different creature.

Growth is when an organism stretches beyond the boundaries of what it is, into what it will become. And that space beyond is sacred. Because it’s an unknown. It’s not ‘more’ nature yearns for. Nor bigger. But for beyond.

Which brings me to the subject of this blog. And this website.

​“I will miss Mud Mountain blog, and the anticipation of seeing you overcoming all the challenges of your life there.”
My inbox has been busy since my last post.

And slowly it dawns on me. Many think The Mud website is winding down, readying itself for death. This is a little disconcerting. Because The Mud online is not slowing down. Not at all.


It may appear that the cyber element of The Mud is no more than a transparent canvas upon which my Mud world is painted. But it’s not. The website is alive. Just like the trees and the plants. Since 2012 it has grown organically. Changed course here and there. Today it claims nearly 7000 subscribers. I must admit, for someone who didn’t know what a PDF file was five years ago, I’ve become a little enthralled with the internet. It possesses its own kind of magic. Its own kind of growth.

The Mud website is an ephemeral boundary between my mud home here in Turkey and the outside world. It’s a meeting point. The place where the beyond can tap on my window, drop hints and whisper. As time goes by the flow rate between out there and in here increases. When that happens growth is inevitable.

The Mud cannot end, because my fascination with dirt, and earth and building hasn’t ended. My first earthbag building course is on the horizon, and will be detailed in the coming weeks. There are already a number of exciting developments in the virtual pipeline, so stay tuned for those. And if you’d like a say in how The Mud website evolves, then please fill in the survey.

So you see, I may be embarking on a new branch of a my journey, but it’s still a very muddy one. Wherever I go, I’ll be searching for my next Mud Mountain, for my spot of Gaia. I’ll be feeling each space and letting it inspire me, speak to me. Then hopefully, if it allows me to translate, I’ll relay what it says.
​
Meanwhile www.themudhome.com  is growing. It’s no longer about one woman in one mud home on a hill, but about a world of Mudsters. It’s about you as much as about me. Just like my Mediterranean oak, before it was a straggly shrub, and now it’s a tree. It hasn’t simply colonised more space. It’s not really the same plant. Its roots are deeper. Its foliage is fuller. It’s moved beyond. ​

If you want to read another critique on the failed economic lunge after 'bigness', Paul Kingsnorth's article is well worth a read.
Picture
This is how a Mediterranean oak looks, if it doesn't get a prune.
If you enjoyed this post, feel free to share it.
12 Comments

Leaving the Mud Womb

10/5/2016

34 Comments

 
Picture
 It’s not like me to write two posts in a month, but then things are changing. When were they not?

There was such a heart-felt response to the bulldozer incident, I wanted to convey better what is happening. Because I sensed I had failed somewhat in my last post. As I scrolled down the comments, both on social media and on the blog itself, I was honoured at the extent people cared. I don’t know why, call it naivety, blind stupidity or a lack of self-worth, but I hadn’t banked on the impact. At least not really. I think Jodie's comment probably sums up the group emotion.

"I had to question why I felt tearful...was it because of the hope you and your place gave me, was it that singular yet amazing day spent with you there, was it my fear that you would be lost without that place, was it fear that all beautiful places are at the same risk and nowhere can be paradise and safe? All of these."

This was pretty much the skein of my own thoughts, too. Though of course, by the time I wrote about it, I’d had two months to integrate the situation, hadn’t I? It was already past tense for me. For you, the excavator was chomping outside your door, there and then. It was brutal.

Then I noticed something beautiful has transpired. It’s called community. Thank you, each and every one of you, for participating with me in it. I so enjoy your company. (Big words for a hermit:))

So without further ado, let’s get this straight vis-à-vis my land: Believe it or not, I am not face down in the dirt, fists scrunched, beating the ground and wailing. Though I did shake my fist at the excavator driver and lecture him on the souls of trees (he looked mortified). I also spent the first week wandering about like a refugee. But since then it has been a little odd. Because as soon as my mind was shunted from one rail of perspective onto another, the sorrow evaporated and excitement prevailed. I pondered on this. Was this because I’m a callous witch? Didn't I care about my land? Had I spent the past five years imagining our connection?

No! Each day since I've talked to the trees, absorbing the light on the leaves, hearing them, hugging them, imbibing each precious moment. Then I remembered a phenomenon the psychiatrist Irvin Yalom observed:

“We found strong evidence that many of the widows who had the best marriages went through the bereavement and detachment process more easily than those who had a deeply conflicted one.” (Momma and the meaning of Life)

Yes Irv. That’s right. And I know why. There’s no regret.

Nothing has topped the joy I’ve felt here on this space. There is not an ounce of remorse, not one single point where I wished I'd done something, but didn't. Nearly every minute here was (and is) incredible. Even the terrifying challenges were incredible. This land completed me. It breathed life into me. My home is a mud womb. I’ve gestated, and I’m about to descend the birth canal. There is no grief in this. People don’t grieve births, they grieve deaths. And they grieve lives never lived.

Now, had I spent £100 000 or dollars on my house, had I mortgaged myself to the hilt, had I compromised my soul and spent years grafting miserably to purchase a patch of ephemeral security, had I perceived the past five years as some sort of sacrificial lamb for a dream future, I’d probably be grieving. Hard.

What I feel at the moment is gratitude. Alright, alright, there are a few spadefuls of trepidation too. Yet this I know: Our planet is a propitious wonderland. It possesses powers and gifts we don’t even vaguely understand. I've no idea what my land is exactly, or why it behaves the way it does. All I know is, it has filled me to the brim with a light and a love that make me carefree. I’m profoundly grateful. An unprecedented desire has developed. I want to take that light and plant it elsewhere. Spread it. Grow it. Meanwhile, some other charmed soul will now be able to come here and experience their own adventure. And that is so very Mother Nature, isn't it? Grow. Bud. Drop fruit. Seed. Grow.

So here's the plan.

At this moment, I intend to let go of my land to the right person, buy a van, customise the interior and travel with my dog around Europe for a while. Even the thought of tyres turning on tarmac, the freedom and the unknown, sets me on fire. 

Yet visions are the easy part, aren’t they? It’s when you start living them that your mettle is tested. Who knows? Perhaps life has other plans for me. It may take a while for this to arise. It may not. ​And yes, the idea of stepping out from this cosy bill-free den of abundance, and into the real world is a little terrifying. But since when has anything of any value ever been achieved without the odd bitten nail?

I owe my land many things: I’m not the person I was when I arrived here. Now I possess a brand new skill set, new drive and strength. Certainly, I feel younger than when I arrived. Before too long, I shall find another patch of Gaia, more remote, wilder, and live this adventure again. Oh let me build more mud dreams, create a mud palace and another beautiful world! Let me meet more animals and trees and spirits. Because it is a game. A magical, divine game. I am privileged to be able to play it. We all are.

Picture
34 Comments

    Author

    Atulya K Bingham

    Back in 2011, I found myself camping alone on a remote Turkish hill. There was no power or water on the land. It was the start of an adventure that profoundly changed my beliefs about what is enjoyable, or possible...

    Sick of the screen?

    You can now get a beautiful, illustrated paperback edition of Mud Mountain. 
    Picture

    Also available on Kindle and ibook. 


    Picture
    "Beautifully written and inspiring." The Owner Builder Magazine.

    The Mud Home is expensive to maintain and a full time to job to run. If you are inspired by it or finding it useful do consider becoming a patron so that it can continue.

    Picture

    Picture

    If I can build a house, anyone can. Here's how I did it.


    Archives

    April 2018
    June 2017
    May 2017
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    September 2012

    Categories

    All
    Animals
    Building
    Camping
    Earth
    Health
    Magic
    Money
    Obstacles
    Plants
    Solar Power
    Spirituality
    Turkey
    Water
    Women In Building
    Writing


    Be sure to catch the next installment by joining The Mud Circle.


    RSS Feed

Disclaimer: All the content in The Mud Home website is provided for informational purposes only. The author undertakes no responsibility for any person or entity who chooses to use the information on this website. It is not intended to be a standard and should not substitute for the exercise of good engineering judgment by engineers. It is the user’s obligation to make sure that he/she uses the appropriate practices and consults the appropriate experts when building. It is the user's obligation to make sure they are following health and safety guidelines. The author is not responsible for any accidents, injuries or damages to persons or property incurred while using the information presented in this website.

Some blog articles refer to the use of lime. Please note, lime is caustic and can cause burns. Read The Mud Home guide to using lime safely here.

EARTHBAG BUILDING PDF
EARTH PLASTER GUIDE
BOOKS
Newsletter
About Atulya
Privacy Policy

SUPPORT

Picture
Picture
The Mud Home takes many hours a week to run, and costs a lot to sustain. If you find this site useful or inspiring, please consider supporting it so that it can continue.
Picture

Many thanks to all those who've already become Mud Sustainers.

The Mud Home  Copyright © 2013  Atulya Kerry Bingham
  • Home
  • Building
    • Earthbag
    • Living Roofs
    • Gravel Foundations
    • Off-grid how to >
      • Off-Grid Prep Course
    • Earth Plaster
    • Mud as Mortar
    • Wattle and Daub
    • Lime; Hydrated, Hydraulic, and Putty
    • Mud Building Blog
  • Books
    • Dirt Witch
    • Mud Ball
    • Mud Mountain The Book
    • An Earthbag House in 7 Days?
  • About
    • Contact
  • Learn Mud
    • Courses
    • Mud Building PDF Package
    • Other Projects
  • Earth Whispering
    • Join the Earth Whispering Exploration
    • MUD MOUNTAIN