“It is easier to ship recipes than cakes and biscuits” - John Maynard Keynes
Ralph sighed in despair; his ceiling was leaking again. The rain had been pouring for three days now and his makeshift roof repairs weren’t holding up. His hut was cold and damp and he longed for the warmth of summer. He had been toiling on the farm all day and felt cold to the bone. Seeing that he had run out of firewood, he decided to seek out food at the inn; there would be a crackling fire there.
The Falconmoor Inn was a brisk walk across the moor. As the clouds parted, Ralph passed giddy bats chasing moths as he followed the hedgerow under the light of the moon. Arriving to candlelight and laughter, Ralph ordered soup and biscuits and sat in the armchair by the fire. He sat alone as he contemplated how he might afford a new roof.
Shortly afterwards, a stranger entered the inn. Her clothes were soaked and worn through and Ralph wondered how far she had travelled; she was not from Falconmoor. Ralph bid the stranger join him to dry off by the fire. The stranger, whose name was Beatrix, said she was from a place called Brightlake beyond the hills to the east. She had travelled for three weeks across bog, through forest, over rocky hillside and traversing rivers. She told tales of her adventure, but also of home, where she said the sun set the lake afire so bright that she knew she would always find her way back. On settling into her dinner, of which she ordered the same, she marvelled at the fine flavour and crunch of the biscuits. In Brightlake, she said, the biscuits were more crumbly. They shared stories into the night and when Ralph awoke in the morning, in the armchair by the fire, the embers had seized hissing and Beatrix had long gone.
Over the following days, as he toiled in the fields, Ralph reflected on Beatrix’s admiration of the biscuits. Having grown up with them, he thought they were nothing out of the ordinary. But an idea came to him — if they really were that good, perhaps he could make a business selling Falconmoor biscuits to neighbouring villages — and perhaps even distant lands.
Ralph hiked up the hill which oversaw the village down in the moor. His old teacher, now retired, lived in a shepherd hut towards the top. Ralph came to see his teacher, John, whenever he had a problem; he respected the old man and sought his opinion. As he waited for John, he wandered to the top of the hill and, for the first time, noticed a bright light far away, beyond bog, forest, hills and rivers. Lost in the view, he had not noticed that John had joined him and was now standing beside him.
Ralph shared his business idea with John, and asked whether he thought it might work. John thought for some time before answering that it would be easier to trade recipes than biscuits. Ralph should not underestimate how hard it would be to transport goods when roads were in disrepair and carriages required so much fuel. Where would the fuel come from? And the ingredients for the biscuits? While the idea could be fruitful for a while, he should think carefully about what such an enterprise might mean for the village in the long term.
Feeling disheartened, Ralph bid John a warm farewell and hiked back to the village. As he walked, he saw a peregrine falcon dive deep into the darkness of the moor.
**
Ralph hardly slept over the next six months. After visiting his old teacher John, he could not shake off the idea and dreamt vividly of the bright lake beyond the hills, and the comfortable home he might one day acquire. He shared his predicament with his brother, Michael, who urged him to forget the old man’s hesitations and to build the business. The old man was sentimental and his ideas did not fit with modern enterprise.
Ralph was convinced and set to work, drawing up fine plans with Michael, who became his business partner. Together they rallied the villagers of Falconmoor to set aside their smallholdings for the new business.
“But what will we eat?” Annie from the Manor asked. “We can’t just eat biscuits!”
Michael laughed, “Open your mind! We’ll be earning so much from our biscuits that we’ll be able to buy in the best produce from across the land — we’ll be dining on blushing tomatoes, the most tender beef, fish from the ocean and the sweetest of peas. We’ll be eating foods we can’t even imagine exist!”
The villagers were so mesmerised by tales of such feasts that they agreed to turn over their land to grow more wheat, to increase their dairy herds, to build more beehives and breed more chickens. Michael, who was very good with numbers, carefully oversaw how much land was turned over to each biscuit ingredient to ensure the ratios would be just right to feed into their growing production line. He established new posts of Flour Manager, Butter Manager, Honey Manager and Egg Manager who were charged with driving efficiencies and innovation in producing their respective ingredient.
Ralph set about opening up new trade routes, travelling on horseback with a sample of biscuits and securing advance orders from those villages which were entranced by the fine flavour and crunch of biscuits from Falconmoor. The work was tough as the roads were in such disrepair, but he was spurred on by his vision of a more comfortable life. One day, after several months, he arrived at a small town at the edge of a lake with water so clear that it looked like it had been set ablaze by the sun. The town was surrounded by wildflower meadows teaming with butterflies and small farms with rich, dark soil. The people of Brightlake, too, were entranced by the biscuits and, reluctant to share his prized recipe, Ralph instead promised to deliver enough biscuits for everyone to buy in a fortnight’s time.
Ralph spent all his advance payments on improving the roads and negotiating passage from road thieves. But, after those six months of sleepless nights, their hard work started to pay off as their first line of biscuits left Falconmoor in a caravan of carriages.
The business grew from strength to strength, and Ralph indeed did fix his leaky roof. Over time, he earned so much money that he built a new house at the top of the hill, with far reaching views to admire his new empire. As Michael promised, the villagers dined on the best produce from across the region. The last sceptics turned the few remaining smallholdings to the business when they saw the delicious new food that was available.
**
After a few years, the Honey Manager came to Michael with some productivity charts.
“We have a problem, boss,” the Honey Manager said. “Our honey yields have drastically decreased in the last six months. This is after I ordered thirty new beehives last year. I’m worried that the bees aren’t finding any flowers among the wheat.”
Shortly afterwards, the Butter Manager visited Michael.
“I’m afraid disease has come to our herd,” the Butter Manager sighed. “I suppose we’ve been working our cows too hard, and squeezing too many in the same space. I think we need to think about buying in butter from elsewhere.”
A quick thinker, Michael was unperturbed. While it would be a shame to lose cows and bees from Falconmoor, the clear answer was to focus on maximising wheat production and buy in the other ingredients from elsewhere. If they specialised in wheat, then they could expand their business into other foods - for example, cake, bread and the recently discovered pasta. The possibilities were endless. And so the business grew.
A few years after that, Falconmoor’s wheat was not enough to satisfy the ever growing business, despite all the Flour Manager’s efforts to maximise their yield. And so Michael ordered a search for new lands to grow wheat for the business, offering twenty percent on the market price for the first two years to encourage new supply.
**
One day, as Ralph was admiring his view from his house on the hill, his old teacher John, who was out walking, went to stand beside him.
“The light has been snuffed out. Have you noticed?” John said to Ralph. John was pointing to a place far away, beyond fields of wheat which were once bog, forest, hills and rivers. It was a sunny day. Ralph had not noticed; indeed, he had long forgotten the enchantment of Brightlake.
“I haven’t seen a falcon for a long time,” John added quietly, before leaving Ralph’s side.
**
In the early years, the booming business indeed seemed to benefit everyone in Falconmoor. Large feasts were thrown for the whole village to celebrate their shared success. Ralph was elected as Mayor in recognition of his brave vision for Falconmoor.
But, as the years passed, Ralph began to notice changes in his people. As Mayor, he was alerted to increasing levels of biscuit addiction, depression and petty theft. He heard complaints from people working in the fields about headaches and strange new illnesses that some suspected were related to experiments in the Flour Manager’s laboratory. People complained that fruit and vegetables arriving from other lands no longer tasted so sweet, and people hankered for the freshly dug carrots of their youth. The biscuits didn’t taste the same, either. And the water had a strange aftertaste. People had less time for each other, too, as they laboured long hours to keep the biscuit machine working.
**
Then came a particularly dry summer. The wheat crop failed in Falconmoor. Michael used the company’s reserves to buy in wheat from elsewhere to keep the business going. The dry summer was followed by a wet winter and unprecedented flooding.
Ralph was dining in Falconmoor Inn when a stranger, who looked somehow familiar, walked in. Her clothes were soaked and worn through and Ralph wondered how far she had travelled; she was not from Falconmoor. Ralph bid her join him by the warm fire, as was right and fitting as Mayor.
“We need help, Sir,” the woman lamented. “We turned all our land to grow wheat for Falconmoor, but our crop failed. We’ve no food for the winter, save some stale biscuits left over from last year. People are crying out for more biscuits, which they’ve become addicted to, but what we really need is real food.” Met with an uncomfortable silence, she broke down, exacerbated. “It’s a complete mess — we’ve destroyed our land and polluted our lake to grow wheat for you and clear our debts, only to buy back biscuits in return that we could have made ourselves.” She added bitterly, “Your biscuits aren’t nearly as good as the crumbly biscuits I remember from my youth.”
As it dawned on Ralph where he had met this woman before, it was clear that Beatrix did not recognise Ralph. He had, after all, aged and eaten well. He was laden in mayoral dress when he had previously been in rags. He deigned to keep this to himself.
“I am sorry for your troubles,” Ralph began slowly, “But I’m not sure how we can help. We didn’t force you to buy our biscuits. The summer drought affected us too.” He reflected thoughtfully, then added, “I can offer you biscuits on credit to get you through the winter.”
Beatrix left without a word, taking the wrong turn out of the inn, presumably unable — or unwilling — to find her way home.
**
With the summer drought and the winter flooding, the price of food started to hike. It was not long before the people of Falconmoor were suffering and, for the first time, some began to question whether the profits from selling biscuits would cover the rising cost of imported food.
Workers in the field began to strike for more pay; they were unable to feed their families on stagnant wages when food was becoming so expensive. Demand for the biscuits started to falter and the people of Falconmoor found themselves surrounded by biscuit mountains. The price of transporting biscuits shot up as the road thieves became more demanding of a bigger slice of the business pie.
Under increasing pressure, Mayor Ralph called an urgent meeting. After hearing presentations on Falconmoor’s prospects on public health, food security, education and economic progress by the doctor, the redundant Honey Manager, the school Headmistress and Ralph’s brother Michael respectively, the floor was opened to the villagers.
“How about we sell the business?” Annie from the Manor suggested. “I have a distant cousin who might be interested.”
“And then we’re all tied to them like slaves? And our land? No thanks!” Piped up one of the field workers. “I work hard now, but at least this land is ours!”
“What if we scale back biscuit production for a bit — cut off the extra suppliers and look for new investors?” Someone offered.
“What we should really do,” another butted in, “is rebrand our biscuits for the luxury market. We’ve aimed too run-of-the-mill. We need to add new flavours — Rosehip, Blackcurrant, Meadowsweet — the options are endless!”
“And where are these Rosehips, Blackcurrants and Meadowsweet?” the redundant Honey Manager cried. “We destroyed them long ago — along with the bats and the moths and the bees. By putting this business before our own land, we’ve destroyed our ability to even feed ourselves. We rely on whatever concoctions come out of the Flour Manager’s laboratory to make the wheat grow beyond its natural ability — and who knows the effect that will have on our health in the long term.”
“Do we even remember how to feed ourselves?” said another. “When did we last grow a cabbage? A carrot? A potato?”
“We can restore our land, and our water, and feed ourselves — if we work together.” The old teacher John held up a parsnip, freshly dug and shedding soil. “I’ve been doing some tests. It’s true — our soil has become barren. We’ve lost our bees. Our water is polluted. But we can return life to our land. I’ve been on a journey, collecting seeds and observing how nature renews itself. I’ve applied some of these lessons in the margins of one of our wheat fields and, alas, here is a parsnip.” John then shared some of his ideas about how, by working together, they could clean their water and feed themselves in Falconmoor once again. They might even see falcons return.
The villagers agreed that they wanted to see health return to Falconmoor, and so, under the guidance of John, they worked together — through failures and successes — to gradually restore their land, and shared what they had learned with other villages across the region.
**
Some years later, after the Harvest celebration, Ralph hiked up to the top of the hill. It was a clear night. Under the bright light of the moon, he spied a second moon, reflecting luminescent on still waters far away, beyond bog, forest, hills and rivers.