A few years ago I made a presentation at an educational conference at a college in Maine. I rented a car after the conference and drove to the coast where I found a B & B to stay in for a few days. Nearby, an establishment struck me and has stuck.
It is hard to say what it was as a genre. It was on about an half-acre. They grew ornamental and vegetable plants and trees. There was an old building that housed a book store, a botanical store selling essential oils and creams made from the plants they grew. In another small space they sold baked goods. There was a small kitchen and serving area with two pots of homemade soup, bread and two salads from the gardens. They served coffee and herbal teas grown in the gardens and dried in a shelter.
When you purchased food, you could eat it inside, where there were 3 small tables and chairs, or take it outside. Among the plants there were open patio areas and rough shelters sprinkled here and there on narrow brick paths among the nursery plants. Each shelter had a small eating area and at least one table. They also served as spaces to maintain and propagate the planting areas. Did I mention that they used organic methods of growing?
As I carried my soup and tea out to the gardens, it started to rain. I ducked into a shelter where twig furniture (table and chairs, for sale) invited me into a rough structure made of a few stripped boughs overhead, and covered with a big sheet of plastic. I was able to sit and enjoy the garden in a downpour, perfectly dry except for a few times when a gust of wind carried a light spray my way. It was peaceful, green, beautiful, economical in price for me, and a cunning way of presenting outdoor furniture for sale. Had I lived in Maine, it would be hard to leave without buying a chair or wooden basket.
From my perspective I saw that none of the structures were complete. There were workshops where furniture’s built. There were plastic hoop houses – low tunnels filled with seedlings and small plants (for sale). Some shelters roughly constructed with this and that. Others old outbuildings with parts missing, scraped bare, reinforced, and used as they were – open and perfectly functional. The stark clarity of the structures left the impression of sculpture, not poverty.
I walked back into the “house” to find a book. Then I realized that instead of having been rehabilitated and returned to its original state (an expensive proposition) it was scoured, reinforced, some interior walls removed, wired for electricity, a wood stove installed, and used as it was. Each room felt like nook or cranny as a small, focused sales area. The books were mostly about making your own, growing your own, and selling your own.
I was in awe of people who had a vision, lived among plants, used what they grew, honed all their skills, and created an environment that radiated integrity, focus, and aesthetics while reflecting intelligently what is at hand.
They constructed their own lives with an open structure. And let me tell you, Maine has lots of cold and snow for many months of the year. By studying the layout I could see its design to shrink back into the most sturdy spaces from ice and snow, and then open up again when weather permits.
It dawned on me that this could be done anywhere. Using vertical agriculture and hydroponics, it could even be reproduced in urban areas, in and around any boarded up building or factory.
This memory embodies my vision for Palimpsest, as a project of urban agriculture, artisan and craft preservation.