I was born on the volcanic island of St Vincent, just west of Barbados. I I was always roaming free: hiking mountains and climbing coconut and mango trees. My mum worked with the United Nations and was offered a position in West Africa, so we moved there when I was 12. I spent a lot of time fishing and hunting with the indigenous community, and they introduced me to agricultural-style food-growing. I enjoyed playing cricket and was recruited to play for the national team in the Gambia. I spent three years playing professional cricket, and although it was fun, my heart was drawn to living on and from the land.
When I moved to the UK for my university studies, my passion for food-growing intensified. I’ll never forget my first year in London: I had massive failures. The climate was really different: the tastes of my childhood, such as okra, just couldn’t cope with the cold. I was intrigued by the concept of taking a more natural approach to growing food, so I studied permaculture.
Along the journey I met my wife, Caroline. We moved to Devon with our son in 2014, where we now live in an off-grid community set in 42 acres. I’m specialising in how to use small spaces for intensive growing and self-sustainability, and teach introduction to permaculture courses and more specialist subjects, such as composting.
When I lived in London, I helped set up May Project Gardens, growing food and teaching people about nature. The disconnect that I noticed between those young people and nature was heartbreaking. I hope that my son will grow up to appreciate the wisdom that nature has to offer us.
In my garden, you can find lots of examples of permaculture: companion planting, herb spirals, plants and edible flowers to attract insects and bees for pollination. One of my favourite plants is comfrey; I use it a lot to make liquid feed for plants. It also has beautiful flowers that the bees love, and amazing medicinal uses, too. I have it all over my garden.
My favourite spot
I spend a lot of time sitting around the fire pit, observing the vastness of the land when the sun goes down. There’s something primal about a good fire.
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