InterviewMembers
The last miller on the river
Nell Okafor runs a water mill that has ground flour since 1790. We talked about stone, grain and stubbornness.
By Mara Ellison
· 10 min read
Audio version for members · 13 min
Nell Okafor runs a water mill that has ground flour since 1790. She took it over nine years ago, when it had been silent for two decades, and spent the first three of those years mostly removing pigeons. Today it mills around twenty tonnes of local wheat and rye a year, sold to bakers, shops and anyone who turns up at the door on a Saturday.
What does stone-ground actually mean?
That the grain goes between two big stones, one turning, one still, and comes out whole: bran, germ and all. A roller mill separates everything. We don't. It's slower, it's fussier, and the flour tastes of the field it came from.
How much of the work is the river?
All of the turning, none of the thinking. The river decides when we mill. In a dry summer we stop. This year we lost five weeks in August, and I spent them re-dressing the stones by hand.
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Nell Okafor runs a water mill that has ground flour since 1790. She took it over nine years ago, when it had been silent for two decades, and spent the first three of those years mostly removing pigeons. Today it mills around twenty tonnes of local wheat and rye a year, sold to bakers, shops and anyone who turns up at the door on a Saturday.
What does stone-ground actually mean?
That the grain goes between two big stones, one turning, one still, and comes out whole: bran, germ and all. A roller mill separates everything. We don't. It's slower, it's fussier, and the flour tastes of the field it came from.
How much of the work is the river?
All of the turning, none of the thinking. The river decides when we mill. In a dry summer we stop. This year we lost five weeks in August, and I spent them re-dressing the stones by hand.
“The river decides when we mill.”
Who buys your flour?
Eleven bakeries, a handful of shops, and a lot of people who started baking in the lockdown years and never stopped. The bakers keep us alive. The Saturday people keep us cheerful.
Why do this at all?
Stubbornness, mostly. And because when a mill stops, the skills stop with it. There are maybe a dozen people who can dress a millstone properly now. I'd like there to be more by the time I stop.
27 comments
Newest firstLucía FerraroReaderSep 12
Would you allow me to translate this interview for our cooperative's bulletin? Nell is an inspiration.
Oskar BrandtMemberSep 12
Visited on a Saturday after reading this. Came home with rye flour and a much better understanding of millstones.