This article first
appeared in the September 2000 Issue of Dance
of the Soul.
Building with
"cob" is a powerful political action, greatly reducing the need for
the mortgage systems, lumber and construction industries, and petrochemical
companies, says Becky Bee, author of The Cob Builders Handbook: You Can
Hand-Sculpt Your Own Home. "Cob builders spend less of their lives working
to pay for all of the above, and spend more time living," explains Bee.
Bee also teaches
hands-on workshops and will be in
So what is "cobbing"? The Cob Builders Handbook defines cobbing as a process best described as "mud
daubing". Earth, sand and straw are mixed together and massaged onto the
foundation, creating thick load-bearing walls. It's like hand-sculpting a giant
pot to live in.
Bee points out in
her book that not only is cobbing fun for you and
gentle on Mother Earth, in can help you discover more of "who you
are". Cobbing requires that you define what it
is that you want; you become the creator of your environment in every step of
the process. Cobbing connects you to the long
forgotten memories of building with nature that have been stored in your cells
and passed down from your ancestors.
Cobbing is also good for your body, making it stronger,
harder and healthier. You'll learn to move efficiently and pace yourself in the
rhythmic, slow, creative pace of cobbing.
Cobbing will help you get to know yourself in
relation to others. Says Bee, "It's easy to inspire
others to participate in cob building projects because it's so fun and
satisfying. People are happy when they are part of a team making
something beautiful and useful!"
Cobbing is also a highly intuitive process. Following is an
excerpt of what Jan Sturmann experienced when he and
his wife built their cob home:
"Every child
is drawn compulsively to play house. We each built forts and tree-houses, and
experienced that sense of secret safety bidden from the adult world. But at
some point the veil dropped and we forgot our instinctual ability to build.
Instead we place vital aspects of our lives in the hands of others, fragmented
experts like ourselves.
"For nearly a
year we worked, compelled by this instinctual urge to make shelter. This urge
is strong; without shelter we die. Our ancestors knew this. They shout through
our genes: Shelter yourselves! A protection from the
elements, the enemy, a buffer from the forces that seek to draw from us the
juice of life.
"For a
structure to resonate as home I need to listen closely to this gene-wisdom.
What appeases the primal in me? To see out unseen, with my back protected,
allowing time to gird my loins as the stranger approaches. Proximity
to water, food, wood. The changing moon-light,
sun-light playing at the cave entrance bringing seasonal awareness to my
body-clock. Fire to cast warmth, cast light, keep at
bay the forces that lurk at night. To sleep up high in
a loft, my nest in the trees. To defecate inside cringes
my genes. I need to go out, away, keep the nest clean. Every animal knows these
things, our ancestors knew. In our arrogance we forgot. To feel at home again
we need to remember, design buildings that heeds our instincts.
"Experts
complete their lead and ink abstractions on paper before a building begins, and
all the design faults and limitations are duplicated into matter. Lacking
talent in drawing, abstract thought, sitting too long at a desk, I have learned
to design in progress, my thinking evolving as the building grows. We began
with no more than a few rough sketches, mislaid after the foundations were dug,
a clay model that soon melted in the rain. Then the dialogue, between the
house, the materials, the environment, the builder, began. Cob, growing
incrementally, allows time for this. I can not plan a certain view through a
window in my mind. I need to be able to stand there, glass in hand and move it
and move me until the perfect placement is found. I need to go into the woods
searching for a vague shape of tree and then allow myself to be surprised as
curved limbs and trunks set the tone far flowing forms to emerge. Take lumps of
mud and watch as my hands sculpt details I could never preconceive. Therein lies the joy, the discovery, the opportunities for
serendipity.
"Natural
building is not only a matter of materials - rock or concrete, clay or sheet
rock, wool or blue board, tree trunks or 2X6'es - but a matter also of
attitude, responding, listening.
"Each
morning, still soft from sleep, I wonder about the building, look at what we
did yesterday, feel the cob, touch the wood, sit down on a bale, watch the sun
changing forms on the walls. Nestling into the building, I look around, see
possible next steps, turn them over in my mind like
candy on my tongue. Restless, I stand up and begin one task I know how to do -
fill a wheelbarrow with sand, trim a wall, debark a log. As I work, body
warming to the day, possibilities tug at my mind. Then, when I least expect it,
I see it complete, so simple. All I have to do is do it. So it goes, over and
over. So I learn eventually to trust it, this wisdom of the dialogue between
the house and me. Blue prints are necessary only for those unwilling to
cultivate intimacy with their home."
Becky Bee of
Cynthia Kaye Morin
is co-publisher/co-editor of Dance of the Soul magazine. She may be contacted at Cynthia@studio8creations.com
© 2001 Cynthia Morin. All Rights Reserved.