By Mark Charlton
Former market gardener, ethnobotany and linguist graduate, Mark Charlton, shares his story of relationship with food, medicine and land work with WWOOF. 15 years later, he reflects on how the sometimes awkward-messy-vulnerability of living and meeting new communities on the land is a profound elixir for our individual and collective yearning for nature, purpose and real-time human connection.
Can you feel the light inside?
Can you feel that fire?
– St Chroma, Tyler, The Creator feat. Daniel Caesar [Chromakopia]
Nostalgia of a globe-trotting gap year eventually alchemised into curiosity for a grand adventure. This time in home territory; The east coast of Australia and New Zealand’s south island were more familiar to me than old Blighty. I was to fix that, not just enjoying the scenery but by getting my hands dirty, and getting to the roots of things. Where were growers who had been feeding me for the past 24 years, and why didn’t I know them?
They tried to bury us,
They didn’t realise that we were seeds.
– Dinos Christianopoulos
I was never a tree-climber or tree hugger. I didn’t splash in puddles. But somewhere within my mind in sleepy suburban hamlet Smithy Bridge, Lancashire, certain images of nature from films and books stuck: The Emerald Forest whisked me to indigenous Amazonia. Less anthropologically, Disney’s animation of Pocahontas mesmerised with its depiction of the protagonist pronking about in semi-wild Avatar-esque landscapes. The soaring soundtrack, rejoiced in the elements of the natural world. Kenneth Grahams’ classic The Wind In The Willows vividly elicited the nature I revered. As vague and undefined as the term “nature” is, I knew that my mission was to find it.
While studying a Bachelors in the city, I was plucked from a sales job at Gucci by the Manager of Neals Yard Remedies. I knew the brand well as I used their moisturisers and shampoos, that boasted all natural and organically certified ingredients. Beginning work there was like entering a botanical Willy Wonka: a herbal tincture bar heaved with unknown liquors, and large friendly jars, like garden cloches, boasted remedies for anything from acne to the inability to yodel. Everything smelt like heaven. When the company launched an English lavender essential oil paired with sea salt harvested in Brittany, my nature mission was finding its legs. I found WWOOF.
Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.
– Hafiz
With its earnest descriptions of cheerful duties, and a promise of bed and board, I made the phone calls and prepared to embark. To kick off, I spent my birthday weekend at Emerson College learning about biodynamic nutrition and cookery. The group were seekers, too. We bonded quickly, fascinated by the unique story of food presented to us – beyond fields, beyond vitamins or carbohydrates, the farm as a gateway between the sky and the earth. Otherworldly reverence gave way to bowls of nettle soup and hunks of homemade sourdough bread made from biodynamically-grown emmer wheat. This was a rapture – light years from suburban supermarkets and the weekly shop. Asked to summarise my learning for that weekend, I ugly-cried as my heart broke open with something that had felt so withheld for my entire life and yet thoroughly familiar.
Spring sunshine dried my tears as it warmed the bones of the earth. Mind-blown, on the tails of sparkling observations of stars and lunar influences on our soils, I floated through central London in my green welly boots, already a little defiant to city life. I felt a giddy member of a secret society – a ticket to Suffolk and my first WWOOF Host was a passport to earthly delights.
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a loop that never ends
- Lyrics from Colours of the Wind, Pocahontas
Narrow lanes whizzed by the window of a dusty old Land Rover whose interior blended the smell of damp earth and an honest day’s work. Fetched by the elderly Host, a caution was issued about the goose at the farm who’d promoted himself as security guard. A promise was sternly issued to make him dinner that same Christmas if he refused to behave. I had arrived, unscathed, and I found myself in the kind embrace of strangers. Time for bed in unfamiliar sheets, in a landscape as yet unseen.
My absolute novice status didn’t deter my Hosts one bit. I was thrust various tools, and left to weed fields of garlic. Belly filled and emptied of muesli, cheerful cheese sandwiches and inevitably, cake, limbs remained unscathed by Goosie, and the fattening garlic now had a chance of being cleanly harvested. Grains of wheat, too, spilling into an enormous truck that would whisk it to be milled. Before the harvest, I stood for a moment in stillness, surveying this scene that definitely wasn’t Smithy Bridge: the setting sun revealed a golden blanket that undulated and whispered, metallic glimmers danced and died on the bobbing sheaves. I cried. I sang. Our ancestors witnessed this cosmic rhythm for hundreds of years; Spring’s vibrant answer to Winter’s taciturn fireplace. Witnessing it welcomed my presence in this strange new land.
Let us fall in love again and
Scatter gold dust all over the world.
Let us become a new Spring and
Feel the breeze drift in the heavens’ scent.
– Rumi
Days yawned open as May approached, and I travelled West. Biodynamic preparations would be sloshed, swirled and sprayed, potatoes would be ridged, tomatoes tended to. Veg beds weeded ad nauseam, veg seeds sown, and sown again, harvests thickening. My hands were taught new ways of being by patient Hosts, and benefited from 2 years of dressmaking training. Yoga often began the day so I’d feel nimble and good at the end of work. There were so many “firsts” in these 2 years of volunteering: first time eating a freshly picked tomato. I was appalled at the texture and taste!
Everything about this time was strange; land work was strange. Yet I embraced strangeness with open arms. The Hosts’ warmth put me at ease; they knew that many of their volunteers were completely out of their comfort zone. And frequently bored doing repetitive tasks. Boredom creates spaces for great conversations. The intimacy of absolute strangers absorbs. Other volunteers made tasks seem more inviting, and quicker to complete, and fun. Likely we’d never crossed paths again, and that only served to heighten the interactions. Others’ presence meant that I didn’t lean on the Hosts as much who, in Summer, had their plates full. To relax, we discovered local pubs and pretended to be grown ups, weighing up whether that next drink would mean a walk rather than the bus fare home. But who cares in June, when days don’t end, and elderflower fragrantly reassures? Lime green umbels and creamy white stars playfully catch the light of the moon and light up our path home.
My house is made of flowers
Warm winds carpet the floor
Whenever there are Spring showers
I simply open a little rainbow door
- Lyrics from My House is Made of Flowers, Pearl Bailey
Colour, poetry, song, flowers – all the vibrant lyricism of life presented itself in the countryside of rural English Summer as if for the first time. A most perfect companion. I’d left behind the stiff, stifled, suppressed suburbs. My flamboyant attempts to express my joy for life were provocation to some, even in city centre Manchester. This easeful bohemia suited me better. Accompanying me on long solo walks, I’d sing, as if I was a bird in a tree, just happy to be there, surrounded by potent vastness, expressing joy through sound. Not afraid I was interrupting someone’s enjoyment of the TV.
I didn’t ever experience any prejudice throughout my experiences. But I did feel sad to not see my own “kind” within this idyllic setting. I wouldn’t meet another gay man on an organic farm for many years. At that time, my mission through WWOOF was far greater than finding a partner; connection with the natural world and a new way of living, albeit temporarily, had lovingly located me. My inexhaustible wonder and rapture at those pastoral landscapes was a source of intrigue and, sometimes, bewilderment for my Hosts.
I come as one but I stand as 10,000
- Maya Angelou
As my confidence grew on this journey, I stood up at the local folk night, meeting the gaze of thickly-set ruddy cheeked farmers. Fighting back nerves I belted out Colours of The Wind, the theme tune from Disney’s Pocahontas. I remembered the power of song that my maternal grandmother instilled in me, inherited from her southern Irish roots. The performance prompted some wonderful conversations. The artist within me delighted in having painted some different colours to this rural farming community.
As much as society is evolving as rapidly as ever, pop culture emphasises certain aspects of a relationship. The community aspect of WWOOF, or making a cameo as an extra member of a family unit, had quickly helped me realise how expansive the notion of relationship could be in the sense that we are in relation with one another and everything around us at all times. Down the road from the University of Kent, and a bustling anthropology department, I discovered a Mennonite community of almost 500 people, the Bruderhof. The farming community, and bustling furniture factory, welcomed a bunch of inquisitive young men for a delve into what community life constituted for them, over a traditional Sunday roast, ingredients grown by members and cooked by my host and his wife, a welcome surrogate mum and dad to half a dozen restless young men.
I experienced the WWOOF Host relationship as cosy and parental. While at one smallholding in North Devon, I was struck down with the flu. For a couple of days, my hosts tended my bedside with fresh herbal tea from the garden, a real life scene from Beatrix Potter. My journey through these generous families cemented my firm belief that the bones of people are good. While we’re all so distinct, our goodness unites us and is expressed in such unique ways that communities help make clear. Our increased reliance on certain tech and proximity to screens can threaten or make invisible our pressing need for connection in the present, both to ourselves and others; neither a podcast nor the ping pong of voice notes constitute conversation, although perhaps they do help us hone our ability to really listen.
What will you do with this one wild and precious life?
- Mary Oliver
Sitting at a table with a new Host, the awkward moments and adjustment required, the cringe of misunderstanding a task… As much as none of us actively welcome such things, they are normalised by journeying this way and aren’t to be feared. I noticed, maybe obviously but it’s worth noting, that the longer I was in touch with a Host before I arrived, shuffling around dates and getting to know them in fragments of conversation, the more easeful that transition from stranger-to-friendly volunteer would be.
Disharmony on the farms arose infrequently, and soon blew over with sufficient quantities of talk, tea and cake. On a farm in rural southern France – one intense and dark broadcast in which the Host made known her wishes for a disease to rid the world of “toxic humans” – made my decision to leave clear. Losing my appetite, I packed my belongings, and just walked in the warm black night, a little puzzled that someone could be so cynical when surrounded by picturesque gentle scenes of the Provencale countryside: bees making honey destined to drench our toast atop creamy French beurre, the sweet donkey, Anne, who would ask for another fat apple as I cleaned up the orchard. Anyway, I contemplated and at the exact time my courage was giving way to mild despondency, la gendarme rolled by. Thanks to A-Level French I was soon deposited at the same train station I’d been greeted at a few weeks ago. On to the next place – C’est parti!
Certainly WWOOFing is an odd proposition. Challenges highlight for both Host & Volunteer the enormous amount of trust is required to open up their home, homes which were for the most part never locked. WWOOFing is up there with luggage carousels and hostels; stay in lane and life rolls on pleasantly.– When else do we go and sleep in new homes, join unknown people at their family dinner table, ask if their bathroom is free, when we hadn’t even met them less than 24 hours before? Somehow WWOOFing has burrowed through a cosmic loop in our British reserve establishing itself as a beautiful system that luxuriates in trust, and in the process, furnishing us with satisfying life skills. It’s also a great reminder at how little it actually rains when working outdoors – with the notable Noah’s Ark of 2023 and 2024!
Turns out
I don’t much that much about anything
At all.
– If I Could Play The Piano, Ralph Castelli
When presented with the plethora of tasks and tools, I quickly developed a Tourettes-like ability to say cheerfully, “I don’t know”. The distinction between a spade and a shovel, discerning the right hoe for the task featured here, and countless other things that elicited a blank expression; “Mark, can you prick out the tomatoes?” Sorry, what?! It was like being at school, in the best way. I think as an absolute beginner, the expectations of me were zero. The only way was up.
An advantage was my ease in my body and my relative strength, heaving around wheelbarrows to the brim easily replacing jujitsu, gymnastics and swimming. I loved making new beds, the beautiful potential of a bed so clean and neat. Tiring myself out made my actual bed all the more deserved. A wise WWOOFer I met, Polly, on a Dorset smallholding gave me an ah-ha moment when we were talking about praise. She wasn’t fazed by criticism or seeking praise, she was confident she was just doing her very best. This helped me to take criticism on board, and learn, rather than take it to heart.
Honesty is key to getting by in this exchange and learning to wear your heart on your sleeve. After all, you’re not employed there; I certainly never felt pressure to speed up and it’s clear to a Host when you are giving your best shot. I’ve been to plenty of volunteer afternoons where the vibe is more social, and very little garden work is done. But on a WWOOF exchange, it’s far more apparent with the delicious meals and lovely place to sleep that it’s all hands to the deck, especially as many are businesses.
We are the earth intruders.
- Bjork
My experiences of WWOOF lead me to invent gorgeous concepts like The Joy Army – effectively a modern Land Army with more colourful attire. If Britain were to crown King Mark the First, the first thing to do without hesitation is instate conscription – for land work. 12 months of working on a farm – phones withheld for the duration of the shift. This would give our country the makeover it doesn’t know it needs; normalising manual work.
Veggies continue to be our loyal servants. Engaging with them, welcoming them into our lives, is a simple but profound act of care for ourselves and stewardship of our environment. Let’s welcome more entrepreneurs who are wielding broadforks, shovels and spades. Do we really need another scientific study earnestly reporting that nature is good for us? It’s impossible not to find some aspect of work on the land that you enjoy. It’s second nature.
It’s becoming apparent in our culture – and perhaps worldwide – that something intrinsic to us, something crucial, is missing. Particularly in our towns and cities. Transactional behaviours, based on a philosophy of extraction and the hollow promises of consuming, undermine our natural and fundamental need to connect with one another, to work alongside each other steadily. We see the effect of this impact – our tremendous difficulty in finding or creating community. Many of us, busy paying the bills, moving yet again to a more affordable area, don’t feel seen or able to express ourselves, or connected.
Virtual reality and terraforming other planets are expensive nonsense. It’s high time to let reality – not robots – sumptuous reality triumph, and re-enchant us. Technology has always been with us and should remain our servant, not the other way around.
When I first sat down to write this article, I imagined it would be a neat nostalgic reflection on my life-altering WWOOFing journey through the UK back almost 20 years ago. But the more I wrote, of a time where smartphones weren’t yet a staple of our lives and a pandemic was a fanciful notion of dystopian sci-fi, I realised that I wasn’t simply hopping on and off trains, weeding, pruning, harvesting here and there, filling veg boxes. Land work was, and remains, a radical political act, a joyful one – an attempt to imagine and live another way, distinct from my peers. Not driven by economics, staying in strangers’ homes and lending a hand while learning. Venturing into the land with WWOOF and discovering your nature, in the most natural way, and all the Englands that exist in England. You’ll be amazed.
We’d like to thank Mark so much for agreeing to write an article for us. We really appreciate the depth of expression and emotion Mark has shared with us. This article will surely help anyone considering stepping outside their comfort zone to embark on a WWOOFing adventure of their own.
Featured photo credit: Thanks to Suze Creedon for permission.
Disclaimer: It should be noted that hosts receive guests solely as part of an immersive learning experience, in line with WWOOF UK’s educational charitable aims. Visitors participate in the host’s lifestyle, in order to learn. There is no formalised or contractual agreement and the residential visitors (WWOOFers) are free to come and go at will, so are not considered workers. WWOOFers are absolutely not a substitute for paid labour. Any mention of the words ‘work’ or ‘exchange’ in reviews, articles and other content created by our membership is language chosen by the author and not sanctioned by WWOOF.
