Martijn and Tonic

At first glance, Martijn Doolaard, with his scraggly beard and bulky workman’s jacket, might have walked off one of the ridges of Appalachia to buy more ammo for his squirrel gun. But the mountains in the background of the YouTube video are Alpine and pristine, and Martijn’s unmistakably European English is flavored with a disarming Dutch diction.

My wife and I stumbled on Martijn through a recommendation from a friend, and over the past few weeks have slowly been drawn into his world high in the Val Pellice region of Piedmont, west of Turin.

There is, of course, the project: Two extremely rough stone ‘cabins’ originally used as seasonal cattle sheds are being painstakingly rehabilitated into year-round off-grid accommodation. The planning and execution of each modification provides a narrative structure to the video series which is now in its second year with over 72 weekly episodes.

But really, it’s the videography and the stunning scenery that make it hard to look away. That, and morning light on rock walls, lamplight on hand-hewn wooden beams, campfire light, starlight, moonlit mountains.

Martijn is a photographer by trade, and an indifferent craftsman although infinitely patient. He plans as he goes, and the narrative arc of the project has the erratic feeling of a cattle track through the alpine pasture — zig-zagging in a definite general direction but more focused on grazing than covering distance.

Actual cows with bells wander through the frame, and off-camera herders call out greetings. On sunny days there are expeditions to local overlooks and picnics of sourdough and cheese.

It becomes a daily ritual when we get home from work to put on an episode and make a cup of tea. It’s uniquely calming.

I have to admit, I do not always give him my full attention. During long interludes of sawing or chiseling or ditch digging I may check my email or even read a book, with Martijn clattering away on my laptop like a goldfish in a bowl pursuing his single-minded vision far from this world of getting and spending.

Although part of me realizes this is a production and ultimately a fiction, another part of me willingly suspends disbelief.

I walk to a lookout at night to see the lights of the grid in the distance. We listen as Martijn describes the silence. And I come to believe that there is a place, high above the Po valley where there is peace and freedom from desire.

Where a phlegmatic Dutchman with a scraggly beard can say with Lao Tzu, “he who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.”

In short, Martijn becomes my wise and trusted friend. Me and 500,000 other YouTube subscribers.

Then one day he strides into the frame with a box under his arm and a curious excitement evident in his step. ‘Kamikoto sent me these knives, which is exciting because I’ve never really owned good quality kitchen knives!’

Whoa Martijn. Stop, stop. What are you doing?

A lacquered wood box emerges from the packaging, the lid is lifted reverently to reveal a Certificate of Authenticity under which three precision crafted kitchen weapons gleam in their bed of black velvet.

The smallest knife slices through the last tomato of summer, and Martijn glances across at the camera with his characteristic diffidence — ‘Wow! That feels good!’

Martijn! STOP!

I grab his hairy forearm and look into his startled brown eyes.

Martijn! You grew that tomato!

You built the raised beds with reclaimed planks from the barn doors. You pounded the corner posts and hauled the dirt load by load uphill in that crazy little wheelbarrow.

When the ground was warm you planted with your own hands. And in the summer evenings you listened to the patter of droplets on leaves as you watered.

You watched the fruit form and ripen and carried them here to this outdoor kitchen counter where you savored them as the sun was sinking.

You do not need knives of Japanese Honshu steel! This is not an unboxing channel!

SEND THEM BACK!

There is a shocked silence, during which I hear my voice echoing back across the valley. Even I can detect an edge of hysteria ‘…send them back, ack, ack…’

The video gives a small hitch, the telltale of deleted footage, Martijn gives a little shrug, packs up the knives, and heads back to work.

500,000 pairs of eyeballs flick to the next capsule of curated content.