My Carbon Footprint: are we accidentally Amish?

So, I’ve been binge-watching Channel 4’s The Simpler Life – that one about a bunch of people trying to find the key to contentment by relinquishing the trappings of modern life.

I know I’m late to the party, but since we’ve moved from an urban semi to an Exmoor hill farm, there hasn’t been much time for TV. And anyway, with energy prices as they are, I’m more than happy to leave the plug in the determinedly off position.

(Speaking of electric, did you spot the research out this week that shows leaving devices like speakers, laptops and the like on standby sucks almost £150 of energy a year? That little red light on the TV alone accounts for the best part of £25, according to British Gas.)

All of which has got me wondering (almost genuinely) whether we’ve accidentally become Amish in our bid to be as sustainable as possible. Not using supermarkets – in our case because of the plastic involved – tick. Eating seasonally, locally and, as budget permits, organic... tick. Making everything from scratch... tick.

I was watching one victim, sorry, participant, shaking milk in a jar to make butter last night and all I could think was that she was doing it too slowly. (Actually, what I thought was, dear god, that would be a 60-second job with a mixer, but that doesn’t really help the electric chat.)

The extent of our shopping this month – no doubt influenced by the same deep disquiet over the cost of living crisis that millions of others have right now – amounts to three veg boxes and a second-hand pair of trousers. And the trousers (navy, hard-wearing, another tick. Ish.) were a bit of a flutter for me and my “capsule wardrobe”, which usually only contains one pair at a time.

Our kitchen shelves look worryingly like those featured in the experimental programme. There are even rescue chickens running about the place somewhere.

OK, so we haven’t quite got on top of the growing our own bit yet. At least, the seeds are in, but right now there’s only really a handful of parsley and the leaves of a few of last season’s cabbages that have otherwise run to seed to show for it. And we’re not religious, which is probably quite a biggie.

But there’s also so much to do around here right now – we’re converting a conventional farm to a regenerative, organic, agroforestry set-up, which partly means we’ve just planted a thousand nut trees and 200 sapling oaks on “perfectly good arable land” – that our evening’s entertainment is, well, sleep. Though, granted, not by candlelight.

I’m knackered but, honestly, I don’t think I’ve been this happy in ages, though I might just check in with the other half on that sentiment – the one doing the actual farming.

The same seems to have been said for those who stayed the course on the UK Amish-style farm just over the border from us in Devon.

There seems to be a lot of those kind of programmes around at the moment, too. The simplify, sort out, declutter, turn off and tune out type. We seem to crave it, especially in light of the existential turmoil of the last few years.

I know that our own choices stem from trying to be more frugal and not to overconsume for environmental reasons, and now, by luck far more than judgement, for the financial benefits. But here’s the thing.

The big lifestyle chat around trying to be more sustainable so often seems to come back to what we’re prepared to give up, what we’re willing to sacrifice, what we would deny ourselves if the end of life as we know it was nigh (the IPCC says it is, by the way). We seem to have sidestepped the question of whether the overconsuming, full to bursting, got-to-earn-more-to-pay-for-the-stuff default way we live is really so great in the first place.

In the west, the abundance of the second half of the 20th century into the 21st century is like nothing we have ever known before, but we know it isn’t making us happier. The opposite is true. Depression, anxiety and stress rates were well on the rise even before Covid threw a grenade into the mix.

All of a sudden, it feels like the term “sustainable” isn’t just limited to its eco creds, it’s really starting to feel like what’s better for the planet is also better for us as an extension of that natural world, emotionally, physically, psychologically, maybe even financially if we can get this right.

Just don’t let me get anywhere near one of those little white bonnets, OK?

‘Going Zero: One Family’s Journey to Zero Waste and a Greener Lifestyle’, by Kate Hughes, is out now