LOW←TECH MAGAZINE English

Thematic Book Series: Too Much Combustion, Too Little Fire

Tue, 04 Nov 2025 00:00:00 +0000

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For most of history, the multifunctional fire was the only source of energy in the household. It served as a cookstove, toaster, heating device, lighting source, hot water boiler, clothes dryer, and refrigerator, among other functions. During the twentieth century, the fire was replaced by a wide range of appliances plugged into central infrastructures.

In this series of articles, LOW←TECH MAGAZINE critically examines the efficiency, sustainability, health, and safety of the fire and its flame- and smoke-free modern alternatives. What are we saying when we argue that electrical appliances are “better” than a traditional fire?

Contents table

Too Much Combustion, Too Little Fire
Thermo-electric Stoves: Ditch the Solar Panels?
How to Make Biomass Energy Sustainable Again
Well-Tended Fires Outperform Modern Cooking Stoves
If We Insulate Our Houses, Why Not Our Cooking Pots?
Wood Gas Vehicles: Firewood in the Fuel Tank
Medieval Smokestacks: Fossil Fuels in Pre-industrial Times

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Patrons get free access to ebooks, as well as early access to new print books at a reduced price.

Other books in the series

How to build a low-tech internet?, Kris De Decker, Roel Roscam Abbing, Marie Otsuka, 2023. Ebook edition.
How to downsize a transport network?, Kris De Decker, 2023. Ebook edition.
Heating people not spaces, Kris De Decker, 2024. Ebook edition
How circular is the circular economy?, Kris De Decker, 2025. Ebook edition

The Low-tech Magazine archives are also available as a chronological series consisting of four volumes.

Communal Luxury: The Public Bathhouse

Tue, 17 Sep 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Image: Bathhouse built on top of a hot pool, Taiwan. Photo from early 20th century, public domain.

No Running Water at Home

For people in industrial societies, few activities demand more privacy than washing and grooming the body. We usually do it alone, in our private bathrooms, with locked doors. Seen in a historical context, that is unusual. Bathing in the presence of others has been the rule rather than the exception. As late as the first half of the twentieth century, many households, even in the most advanced industrial societies, did not have running water at home, let alone a private bathroom. ¹

A bathroom requires a domestic water supply, but also a sewer drain, and an energy source to heat the water. Of course, it’s possible to have a hot bath at home without these infrastructures. Ever since Antiquity, the rich have built private baths in their houses. Most often, they could do that because less well-off people - either servants or slaves - filled and emptied their bathtubs with bucketloads of water and collected firewood to heat them.

However, for most people, it was more practical to take their bodies to the water rather than the other way around. For some, that meant bathing in rivers, lakes, and springs. For others, especially in urban environments, it meant visiting the public bathhouse.

Image: Bathhouse in Aachen Germany, by Jan Luyken, 1682.

Is Bathing Unsustainable?

Modern bathing practices are a textbook example of an unsustainable lifestyle based on fossil fuels. Hot water production is the second largest energy use in many homes (after space heating and/or cooling), and much of it is used for bathing or showering. ² The modern bathroom also uses a lot of water and adds extra energy use through space heating and waste-water treatment. Building and renovating bathrooms requires resources, too.

Sustainability advocates follow two strategies to address these problems. The first strategy concentrates on technological solutions, such as low-flow showerheads, water boilers heated by solar collectors, waste-water heat recovery systems, and greywater recycling. The second strategy counts on behavioral or social changes by questioning modern standards of cleanliness and comfort: bathing or showering shorter and less frequently, taking cold showers, or doing a cat wash at the sink. ²³

These strategies are unlikely to bring much results. Many technological fixes are difficult or impossible to install in existing buildings, especially in cities. For example, as the number of floors increases, an apartment building quickly runs out of roof space to install solar collectors for all residents. On the other hand, promoting discomfort as a sacrifice for sustainability is unlikely to engage broader environmental practices. ³⁴

Communal bathing makes it easier to disconnect bathing practices from fossil fuels.

Communal bathing could be a third approach, but it’s rarely mentioned. That’s remarkable because, in terms of resource efficiency, it’s hard to beat. Building and operating a bathhouse for 1,000 people requires much less energy than building and operating 1,000 individual bathrooms. A public bathhouse is also more efficient concerning materials, money, and space. ⁵

Just as importantly, public bathing makes applying the sustainable technologies mentioned above more feasible. That further reduces energy consumption and makes it possible to disconnect bathing practices from fossil fuels. Finally, a public bathhouse can achieve significantly improved sustainability without promoting discomfort. On the contrary, pooling resources to build something for a community rather than for every household separately allows for a high level of sustainable extravagance. That may be an easier sell than cold showers.

Image: Public bathhouse in Dunkirk, France, opened in 1897.

Bathing in Rivers, Lakes, and Hot Springs

Nature has provided humans with bathing facilities through streams, rivers, pools, lakes, waterfalls, and rain showers. Humanity spent much time in tropical Africa, where bathing did not require artificially heated water for comfort. When we moved into colder climates, Nature presented us with another solution: hot springs. Many tens of thousands of thermal springs exist around the planet — only a few present-day countries lack them entirely. ⁶⁷

Bathing in hot springs was common in ancient civilizations all over the world. However, it’s a practice that goes back even further in time. Archeological evidence abundantly shows that many prehistoric settlements established themselves near hot springs. ⁶⁸ It’s impossible to prove rock solid that people used those waters for bathing, but why wouldn’t they, especially in cold regions? ⁹

Enjoying a hot bath is a practice that predates recorded history.

Today’s bathing culture relies on fossil fuels, but if we consider the historical context, enjoying a hot bath is not unsustainable. In the case of hot springs, the entire infrastructure and operation — water supply, drainage, and heat source — are already in place.

Our ancestors also invented the steam or sweat bath to take advantage of cold water in all seasons and climates. Rather than heating water, it heats people so they can bathe comfortably in cold water. The earliest steam huts, from prehistoric times, were little more than small log cabins or tent-like structures covered with woolen blankets or hides. ¹⁰¹¹¹²¹³

Painting: Bathing Place, oil on canvas, Paul Gauguin, 1886.

The Birth of the Bathhouse

Artificial bathing facilities made from brick or stone appeared around 4,000 years ago. ¹⁴ They could be an open-air pool, a bathhouse, or a private bathroom. Many bathhouses and bathing pools were built on top of natural hot springs, modifying the natural environment to make it more convenient, safe, and attractive.⁶⁸ People also began to divert water into urban bathing facilities using canals, pipes, and aqueducts. They started building baths that used artificially heated water as well.

The Ancient Romans are most famously associated with the public bathhouse, although they took much inspiration from the Ancient Greeks. Greek bathhouses comprised rooms with individual hip baths against the walls. Sitting up straight, the bathers threw hot water over themselves or had this done by a servant. In contrast, Roman bathers shared the water in large bathtubs or pools. Both used steam baths as well. ¹⁵¹⁶¹⁷¹⁸

At the height of the Empire, there were around 1,000 public baths in the city of Rome alone for a population of about 1 million people - one bathhouse per 1,000 people. ⁸¹⁹ The most prominent bathhouses were the “thermae,” which could hold up to a few thousand people bathing at the same time. These facilities, which only appeared in the largest cities, were richly decorated with mosaics, marble floors and pools, granite columns, and statues. However, most Ancient Roman bathhouses were smaller neighborhood baths called “balnea.” ¹⁵

Image: Cross-section of the Baths of Diocletian by French architect Edmond Paulin, 1880. This bath complex was the largest of Ancient Rome, with a capacity of over 3,000 people.

The Preindustrial Bathhouse

The public bathhouse’s history continues after the Roman Empire’s demise. In the East, the Roman bathhouse evolved into the hammam, which ditched the pools and concentrated more on sweating as a cleaning method.²⁰²¹ After a sweat bath, people threw water over themselves. Reminiscent of the small Roman baths known as balnea, hammams spread in large numbers in all cities of the Islamic world as they facilitated bodily cleanliness and the accomplishment of body ablutions before praying. ²²

In Western Europe, many Roman baths fell into disrepair. However, the public bathhouse returned in full swing during the late Middle Ages, when a new period of urbanization set in. ²³²⁴²⁵ In the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, a lot of European cities had a public bathhouse per 2,000 to 5,000 citizens.²⁶ Many were steam baths inspired by the hammam. A second type of bathhouse offered wooden bathtubs to seat a small group of people. The medieval bathhouse was known as a “stew,” which refers to the oven that either heated water for the bathtubs or filled the room with steam. ²³²⁵

Image: A former medieval bathhouse, built in 1562, in Münden, Germany. Photo by Axel Hindemith (CC BY-SA 4.0).

Image: The women's bathhouse, by Albrecht Dürer, 1496.

Painting: Rudas Baths, Ludwig Rohbock, 1850. The Rudas Baths in Budapest were built in 1550 and are still in operation.

Northern Europe and Russia - never conquered by Roman or Islamic Empires - stuck to sweat and hot air baths. For example, public “banyas” existed in towns throughout Muscovy during the Middle Ages. ¹² Asia also developed independent bathing cultures. For instance, in late medieval Japan, people shared private hot baths among families, neighbors, and friends for economic reasons. For these “cooperative baths” of mostly four to ten individuals, every bather brought a portion of firewood to heat the water. That practice evolved into larger public baths - “sento” - which experienced rapid growth from the fifteenth century onwards.²⁷²⁸

Image: Women taking a vapour bath. Wood engraving by Olaf Sörling.

Image: Men in a Japanese bathhouse, early twentieth century. Image in the public domain.

Bathing for Pleasure

Nowadays, sustainability advocates who promote shorter or less frequent showers implicitly regard bathing as a strictly utilitarian practice. However, for most of history, bathing was never just about hygiene. Apart from getting clean, people also visited public baths to relax, have fun, and socialize. Rather than a quick affair, the bathing process — no matter its form — often went on for hours. ¹⁵²⁸

The Ancient Greeks sat together in individual bathtubs, having conversations, for which the space’s acoustics were optimally suited. ²⁹ In Ancient Rome, public baths were places where people went almost daily to be seen, mingle, relax, gossip, dine, or play sports and study. Bathers accessed beauty treatments such as massages, shaving, hairdressing, and depilating. They celebrated parties and anniversaries and honored foreign guests. ¹⁵¹⁷¹⁹²⁵³⁰

Rather than a quick affair, the bathing process — no matter its form — often went on for hours.

The medieval European bathhouse continued these traditions with less splendor but not necessarily with less revelry. In particular, medieval stews with wooden bathtubs were often a place of amusement that also furnished food, drink, music, and various types of bodily care. ²³ In Japan, during the 16th century, public baths became places to gather and socialize, with large groups of people eating, drinking, and singing. ²⁷²⁸ River bathing, which continued around cities and in rural areas until the 20th century, was a kind of play in which swimming was a potential element. ³¹

At the same time, bathing was considered essential to prevent and cure diseases, following the Hippocratic ideas that people could maintain or restore the balance of bodily fluids by exposing the body to cold, hot, moist, or dry circumstances. The layout of preindustrial baths reflected these ideas, featuring pools and spaces of different temperatures. ¹⁵²¹

Image: Miniature drawing in "De Sphaera Mundi", written by Johannes de Sacrobosco, circa 1230.

Playing chess at the Széchenyi Baths in Budapest, Hungary, 1970s. Photo by Kereki Sándor. Found at [Fortepan](https://fortepan.hu/hu/).

Communal Luxury

While these elements of pleasure, social interaction, and health continue today in mineral spas, there is a crucial difference with earlier bathing practices. The present-day spa is far too expensive to substitute for a private bathroom. In contrast, the historical public bathhouse was an egalitarian institution.

Roman public baths had no or low entrance fees and were open to everyone. There were no areas reserved for higher-ranking patrons. Combined with the splendid architecture and opulent decoration of the baths, this ensured that even the most humble servant would have a taste of luxury. ¹⁵¹⁷¹⁹ These customs continued into the European Middle Ages and were shared by bathing cultures across the world. ²³ For example, in Japan, the bathhouse aided in “slowly deconstructing the existing social hierarchy and created a new cultural flow between the elite and the commoners.” ²⁸³²

The only separation happened between men and women, and it was far from universal across space and time. They would either go to different bathhouses, occupy different sections, or share the same spaces at different times of the day or the week. ¹²¹⁵¹⁷¹⁹²³

Image: A sento in Japan. Photo by [Stuart Gibson](https://stuartgibson.aminus3.com/portfolio/).

The Fuel Use of Roman Bathhouses

How sustainable was that communal luxury? Most research about the energy use of bathhouses concerns Ancient Roman baths. Historians have sometimes faulted the large bathhouses from the Empire for their wastefulness, arguing that their widespread use caused deforestation. ³³³⁴³⁵ However, in recent years, archeological research, thermal analysis, and heat transfer studies have made it increasingly clear that Ancient Roman bathhouses, in spite of their opulence, were remarkably energy-efficient buildings. ³⁶³³

The first reason was the hypocaust system. It consisted of one or more underground furnaces that distributed hot air under the floor and into the hollow walls (some baths had heated ceilings, too). Because of the large radiant surfaces, the spaces in the building could be heated at a lower temperature, saving energy. Although the water for the pools was reheated periodically in an insulated boiler close to the furnace, the heat in the floors and the walls helped to keep it warm for an extended period. ³⁶³³

A study of the Stabian Baths, one of the oldest surviving thermae, shows a fuel consumption of between 5 and 8 kg of firewood per hour, depending on the season. ³⁶³⁷ That corresponds to a wood supply of slightly more than 60 ash trees per year, which was unlikely to cause deforestation. ³⁶ Firewood consumption was probably even lower because Roman baths routinely supplemented wood with other locally available fuels, often waste products: reeds, harvest by-products (olive pits, orchard trimmings, chaff), and animal wastes (dung and bones). ³³

Many Roman baths were heated almost exclusively by solar energy on sunny days.

Following the same methodology, a study of a later bathing complex - the Forum Baths in Ostia - shows that the Romans continued improving their bathhouses’ energy efficiency. ³⁸³⁹ The Forum Baths were three times larger than the Stabian Baths - 923m2 versus 310m2 of heated spaces - but their calculated annual wood consumption is not even twice as high: roughly 100 trees per year. ³⁸³⁶ The newer bathhouse had thicker walls (two meters instead of one meter), as well as much larger glazed windows, which increased the share of solar radiation. ⁴⁰ Earlier research has shown that the Forum baths were heated almost exclusively by solar energy on sunny days. ⁴¹

The studies above assume that the Romans heated their baths for 24 hours daily and only shut them down for maintenance. Roman bathhouses likely continued to be heated through the night, as it was more practical and energy-efficient. Many baths were open daily, and it could take a whole day to heat them from a cold state. In later centuries, medieval stews and hammams often used the heat or the ashes of the furnace to bake bread and other foods at night. ⁴² Hammams and medieval stews were less energy-efficient than Roman baths. Hammams had heated floors but no heated walls and few windows, while medieval stews often had none of these.

Image: The large windows of the Forum Baths. Image: [Jan Theo Bakker](https://www.ostia-antica.org/regio1/12/12-6.htm).

Image: The hypocaust of the Great Baths complex, Ancient Dion. Imgae by Carole Raddato (CC BY-SA 2.0).

Image: Historical Reconstruction of the Roman Baths in Weißenburg, Germany, using data from laser scan technology. Credit: [CyArk](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cyark_Weissenburg_Reconstruction.jpg#filelinks). CC BY-SA 3.0

Roman Bathhouse Versus Private Shower

How does the energy use of the Roman bathhouse compare to that of the modern shower? Academic research does not provide an answer, but a quick calculation shows that the Roman bathing experience, which lasted for hours, was more energy-efficient than the present-day private shower, which lasts, on average, 9 minutes. The daily energy use of the Forum baths corresponds to the daily energy use of 557 showers. ⁴³ While we don’t know how many people visited the Forum Baths daily, they likely surpassed that number: the baths could host up to 500 bathers simultaneously. ⁴⁴

The Roman bathing experience, which lasted for hours, was more energy-efficient than the present-day private shower, which lasts, on average, 9 minutes.

Furthermore, in the calculation above, the energy use for the shower only concerns water heating, while the fuel use for the public baths also - and mainly - includes space heating. ³⁶ For example, assuming that the water in the pools of the Stabian baths was changed only once per day, heating the water accounted for less than 10% of the total energy use, corresponding to the energy use of only 52 showers. The low energy use for water heating is partly explained by the excellent thermal insulation of the heated floors and walls, meaning that space and water heating cannot be separated. However, it is also because the Romans shared the water in pools, while every shower requires freshly heated water.

The Roman bathhouse also compares favorably to the typical backyard sauna, for which the fuel consumption hovers between 5 and 15kg of firewood per session. ⁴⁵ Only sixteen such sauna sessions require as much fuel as the Stabian baths used daily. The sauna has no heated floor and walls. Furthermore, historically, it was often built partly underground to save fuel, but nowadays, it’s usually a badly insulated building standing in a cold climate.

Image: Bathing sandals for women, Saudi Arabia. Heated floors of hammams were too hot to walk on barefoot. Source: [Wereldmuseum](https://collectie.wereldmuseum.nl/) (CC BY-SA 4.0).

The Public Baths of the Industrial Revolution

Bathing practices have changed quite a lot since Roman and late medieval times, particularly in most of the Western world. Few of us will have the time or even the need to linger in a bathhouse for several hours daily, and some of us may feel uncomfortable bathing in public. ³⁰ However, a bathhouse can also take a form more in line with modern bathing habits. The public bathhouse of the Industrial Revolution demonstrates this.

In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, cities received large numbers of immigrants who came to work in factories. Most of these people were housed in overcrowded tenement buildings without running water, leading to unsanitary conditions. ⁴⁶ Recurring epidemics and new medical insights led to a “gospel of cleanliness” that resulted in a new wave of public bathhouses across the Western world. Many of these baths only disappeared between the 1950s and 1980s.

The public hygiene movement began in England and peaked there in the 1840s. By 1896, more than 200 municipalities in Britain were maintaining public baths. The English bathhouse emulated the splendor of Roman baths in its architecture and decoration: it was “large, handsome, and costly.” ⁴⁶ However, it did not copy the Ancient bathing customs. It now reserved different sections of the bathhouse for different social classes. Furthermore, while the pools still provided social interaction, the bathtubs were now placed in individual compartments. Finally, the modern bathhouse instituted maximum time limits for using the pool and the bathtubs. ⁴⁶⁴⁷⁴⁸

Image: Nechelles public baths in Birmingham, England, 1910. Image by Oosoom (CC BY-SA 3.0).

Image: The restored interior of the Amalienbad in Vienna, Austria, built in 1926. It was one of the largest bathhouses in Europe at the time, holding up to 1,300 bathers simultaneously. The original roof could slide open in good weather. Image by Schwimmschule Steiner (CC BY-SA 4.0).

The Shower Bathhouse

Germany, the first to follow the British on the continent, also built monumental bathhouses. ⁴⁹ However, in the 1880s, Berlin physician Oscar Lasser argued that the large baths were too costly to build in the necessary numbers. He proposed the introduction of smaller bathhouses with nothing but showers in individual compartments. Until then, the shower was only attached to a bathtub or used in barracks and prisons, where soldiers and inmates were showered with cold water. ⁴⁸⁴⁶²⁵

The shower bathhouse became the dominant public bath type in most of Western Europe and also in North America, where the sanitary reform movement took off in the 1890s. ⁵⁰⁵¹ It cleared away the last vestiges of the Ancient bathing culture by ditching the pools and switching to a more practical architecture. For better or worse, the public bathhouse from the Industrial Revolution was the “antithesis of the preindustrial bathhouse.” ⁴⁷ Although bathers still made use of communal infrastructure, there was no more space for pleasure, social interaction, public nakedness, and social mixing.

For better or worse, the public bathhouse from the Industrial Revolution was the antithesis of the preindustrial bathhouse.

As the higher social classes gradually gained access to their private water supply and bathrooms, the public bath became increasingly associated with poverty. Although shower bathhouses did not have separate sections for different social classes, they were mainly built in low-income neighborhoods, aimed at the poor only. Bathers were led to their shower cubicle by an attendant, who opened the tap, decided on the water temperature, and started a timer. People had at most 20 minutes to undress, shower, and dress again.⁴⁶⁴⁷ “The poor had to be clean but not enjoy it too much.” ⁴⁶

Image: The last bath attendant of a bathhouse in Haarlem, the Netherlands, in 1984. Image in the public domain.

Bath and shower rooms equipped with timers in Amsterdam bathhouses, 1985. Source: [Stadsarchief Amsterdam](https://archief.amsterdam/beeldbank/detail/ca27031b-8e92-023a-eb42-461dc0cf6fd2/media/728f468c-3dca-91e3-0eb9-6dca39ea8130?mode=detail&view=horizontal&q=badhuis&rows=1&page=24).

Image: Shower cubicles in a municipal bathhouse in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Stadsarchief Amsterdam.

Image: Boiler room of a municipal bathhouse in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, 1985. Stadsarchief Amsterdam.

Bring Back the Public Bathhouse?

In Europe and North America, the public bathhouse disappeared once everyone got their private bathroom - although we still bathe together in sports centers and continue using communal bathrooms in hostels or campings. The public bathhouse survives elsewhere but is in decline almost everywhere. For example, Cairo had only eight hammams in 2000, compared to more than seventy at the beginning of the 19th century.⁵²⁵³ In 1968, greater Tokyo boasted 2,687 public bathhouses. In 2022, only 462 were left. ⁵⁴⁵⁵

Historically, the bathhouse was born out of the need for efficiency: bathing was too resource-intensive to organize individually. That is no longer the case thanks to the advance of central infrastructures - fossil fuels, electricity, water supply, sewers. However, in the context of the present environmental crisis, the resource efficiency of the public bathhouse has become relevant once again. It’s a solution that could reduce energy use relatively quickly without the need for new technologies or sacrificing comfort. Resilience is another argument for the bathhouse. ⁵⁶

Image: Municipal bathhouse at Javaplein in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Image: Stadsarchief Amsterdam.

Image: A former bathhouse in Flensburg, Germany. Image: VollwertBIT (CC BY-SA 2.5).

What Type of Public Bathhouse Do We Want?

The metamorphosis of the public bath in the 19th and 20th centuries, which also affected public baths outside the Western world, presents a challenge to anyone wanting to revive public bathing for sustainability. What type of bathhouse do we want? Of course, the Roman bath and the shower bathhouse are both extremes, and many intermediate forms are imaginable. Nevertheless, any designer of a future bathhouse will have to make decisions that are likely to be controversial.

For example, one could argue that the shower bathhouse not only fits modern bathing practices but also maximizes resource efficiency. That is especially true when the government, rather than the bather, controls shower duration and water temperature. In that way, the public bathhouse could become a technology to enforce frugality upon the whole population. However, to put it mildly, such an approach is unlikely to generate enthusiasm for reviving public bathhouses. Neither does it do much to improve social interaction. ⁵⁷

Any designer of a future bathhouse will have to make decisions that are likely to be controversial.

Advocating for the return of the preindustrial public bathhouse, which centers around social interaction and communal luxury, may be more successful in luring people away from their private bathrooms, but it also runs into obstacles. The public bathhouse has faced resistance for 2,000 years, mostly because of conflicting views about health and morals. ⁵⁸ For example, concerns about debauchery and prostitution - real and imagined - run throughout the history of the bathhouse in all cultures. ⁵⁹ Separating males and females does not fully address those worries.

Image: Scene of a bathhouse, c. 1470, painted by the Master of Anthony of Burgundy (Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Ms. Dep. Breslau 2, vol. 2, fol. 244).

Any plea for reviving public baths will also have to deal with the fear of contagious disease. For example, a “lockdown” of society, as many governments applied during the coronavirus pandemic in 2020 and 2021, is incompatible with public bathhouses. Such a measure only works when everybody has a private bathroom. ⁶⁰ The link between communal bathing and health is complex. Science has confirmed many of the health benefits of cold, hot, and steam baths and has also shown the importance of social interaction. However, bringing people together will always raise health risks, too.

How to Build a Low-tech Bathhouse?

There’s another distinction between bathhouses built before and after the Industrial Revolution: preindustrial baths worked with renewable fuels, while industrial baths ran on fossil fuels. Many modern bathhouses had an on-site coal power plant, which heated the space and the water and provided electricity for lighting. Fossil fuel-powered bathhouses are more energy efficient than fossil fuel-powered private bathrooms, but we can do better than that.

A large bathhouse heated by a hypocaust system and large windows is still hard to beat as a carbon neutral technology, at least based on sustainable wood production. ⁶¹⁶² However, biomass combustion creates air pollution, while we could also power a bathhouse with renewable energy sources that don’t have that problem. The most apparent solution for space and water heating is flat plate solar collectors in which the sun heats water. Heat-generating windmills are a low-tech alternative to solar thermal collectors in less sunny climates. ⁶³ Other potential heat sources are geothermal energy and factory waste heat.

Fossil fuel-powered bathhouses are more energy efficient than fossil fuel-powered private bathrooms, but we can do better than that.

A solar or wind-powered bathhouse’s biggest drawback is its dependency on favorable weather conditions. To compensate for that, solar or wind power can be combined with thermal energy storage, such as insulated water tanks. Storing heat in a thermal mass for longer periods is much cheaper and more sustainable than storing electricity in chemical batteries. However, it requires space that only communal bathing can offer. Steam baths and saunas are more difficult to disconnect from biomass combustion, but some innovative examples exist. ⁶⁴

Clustering bathing facilities in a shared infrastructure also creates sufficient space for a bathhouse to have extensive heat insulation (a decisive factor in energy consumption) and provide for its water supply (for example, by catching and storing rainwater) as well as wastewater treatment (for example through phytoremediation using plants).

Architects have applied some of these ideas in countries where public baths are still used. For example, in a mountain village in China, a community bathhouse for 5,000 people is largely off-the-grid, pumping up its water from a well, heating it with solar collectors, and filtering the run-off wastewater from the showers and the toilets in basins filled with bamboo plants. ⁶⁵

Image: This bathhouse in China has 24 showers and serves a community of 5,000 residents. It recycles the waste-water with bamboo plants. Source: BAO Architects.

However, a public bathhouse also fits the more high-tech vision of a centralized energy infrastructure based on solar PV panels and wind turbines that provide electricity. In such a configuration, public bathhouses could absorb excess electricity during abundantly sunny or windy days. Rather than curtailing the electricity from surplus solar and wind power, we could use it to power electric heat pumps and store the heat in the thermal mass of public baths. ⁶⁶ While this approach is less resource-efficient than off-grid bathhouses operating without electricity, it still beats a scenario in which a centralized renewable power grid supplies energy to many private bathrooms.

Kris De Decker

Many thanks to Jonas Görgen and Elizabeth Shove for their feedback on an earlier version of this article.

Marie Verdeil and Roel Roscam Abbing contributed to the selection of images.

The spread of water supply and sewer networks took a lot of time, especially in older European cities. Before 1900, only the most expensive Paris flats had a bathroom. ²⁶ Plumbed-in private baths appeared in the wealthiest British households in the 1860s. Still, it was not until the 1950s that working-class homes were routinely supplied with hot and cold running water. ³ In the newer cities of the USA, installing a water supply and sewer infrastructure was easier. From the 1870s, American plumbing outstripped that of every other country. More than half of all American houses had a complete bathroom in 1940. For comparison, in the whole of France, only one house or apartment in ten had a shower or bath in 1954. ²⁰ ↩︎
Mist Showers: Sustainable Decadence?, Kris De Decker, Low-tech Magazine, 2019. https://qelnixcor.cloud/2019/10/mist-showers-sustainable-decadence/ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Pickerill, Jenny. “Cold comfort? Reconceiving the practices of bathing in British self-build eco-homes.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 105.5 (2015): 1061-1077. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/00045608.2015.1060880 ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
The trend is towards more and longer showers ² and more, larger and more luxurious private bathrooms. For example, more than one-third of new single-family homes in the US had three or more bathrooms in 2021, compared to “only” a quarter in 2005. Source: Number of Bathrooms in New Homes in 2021, Jesse Wade, National Association Of Home Builders, November 2022. https://eyeonhousing.org/2022/11/number-of-bathrooms-in-new-homes-in-2021/ ↩︎
How much water public bathing can save depends on how exactly people bathe together. Shared pools and bathtubs bring water savings, but individual showers and bathtubs do not, even if placed in a communal space. ↩︎
Erfurt, Patricia. “Hot springs throughout history. The Geoheritage of hot springs.” Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2021. 119-182. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Tamburello, Giancarlo, et al. “Global thermal spring distribution and relationship to endogenous and exogenous factors.” Nature Communications 13.1 (2022): 6378. ↩︎
Cataldi, Raffaele, Susan F. Hodgson, and John W. Lund. Stories from a heated earth: our geothermal heritage. No. 19. Nicholson, 1999. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Even some animals - like snow monkeys and capybaras - are known to enjoy bathing in hot springs. See, for example: Matsuzawa, Tetsuro. “Hot-spring bathing of wild monkeys in Shiga-Heights: origin and propagation of a cultural behavior.” Primates 59.3 (2018): 209-213. https://link.springer.com/content/pdf/10.1007/s10329-018-0661-z.pdf. ↩︎
Sonntag, C. F. “The History of Baths and Bathing in Britain before the Norman Conquest.” Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine 13.sect_hist_med (1920): 25-46. ↩︎ ↩︎
Aaland, Mikkel. “Sweat: The illustrated history and description of the Finnish sauna, Russian bania, Islamic hammam, Japanese mushi-buro, Mexican temescal and American Indian & Eskimo sweat lodge.” (1978). ↩︎
Pollock, Ethan. Without the banya we would perish: a history of the Russian bathhouse. Oxford University Press, USA, 2019. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
The first written reference to the steam bath dates back to the fifth century BC, when Greek historian Herodotus compared the Scythian sweat bath north of the Black sea to the Greek steam bath of his time. However, it’s very likely that its origins go back to prehistoric times. Not surprisingly, the steam bath and the hot air bath initially spread in regions with cold and long winters: northwestern Europe, Russia, Alaska, and Canada. It was also used by Native Americans, and spread to Central and South America as well. ¹⁰ ↩︎
One of the earliest archeological records of human-made bathing facilities dates back to around 2300 BC in what is now Pakistan. The inhabitants of Mohenjo-daro, the probable capital of the Indus civilization, built wells and drainage systems allowing for private bathrooms in most residential buildings, as well as a large, communal bathing pool. The private bathrooms had a 1m2 shallow platform, where people threw buckets of water over themselves. The “Great Bath” was a brick basin with steps on either side and a capacity for 160 m3 of water. As the city was located in a hot desert climate, there was no need for heating the water. Sources: Graeber, David, and David Wengrow. The dawn of everything: A new history of humanity. Penguin UK, 2021 + Jansen, Michael. “Mohenjo-Daro, Indus Valley civilization: water supply and water use in one of the largest Bronze Age cities of the third millennium BC.” Geo: A new world of knowledge (2011). https://openarchive.icomos.org/id/eprint/1541/1/110601geo_06_2011_indian_edition_email.pdf ↩︎
Maréchal, Sadi. Public baths and bathing habits in Late Antiquity: a study of the archaeological and historical evidence from Roman Italy, North Africa and Palestine between AD 285 and AD 700. Diss. Ghent University, 2016. https://biblio.ugent.be/publication/7235534/file/7235545.pdf ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Fagan, Garrett G. “The genesis of the Roman public bath: recent approaches and future directions.” American Journal of Archaeology 105.3 (2001): 403-426. ↩︎
Kosso, Cynthia, and Anne Scott, eds. The nature and function of water, baths, bathing, and hygiene from antiquity through the Renaissance. Vol. 11. Brill, 2009. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Both the Greeks and the Romans also used cold baths in combination with sports facilities. Here, the act of washing was secondary. ¹⁵¹⁹ ↩︎
Hoagland, Alison K. The bathroom: a social history of cleanliness and the body. Bloomsbury Publishing USA, 2018. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Ashenburg, Katherine. The dirt on clean: An unsanitized history. Vintage Canada, 2010. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Fournier, Caroline. Les bains d’al-Andalus: VIIIe-XVe siècle. Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2018. https://books.openedition.org/pur/44617#anchor-resume ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Sibley, Magda, Camilla Pezzica, and Chris Tweed. “Eco-hammam: the complexity of accelerating the ecological transition of a key social heritage sector in Morocco.” Sustainability 13.17 (2021): 9935 ↩︎
Coomans, Janna. “Janna Coomans - The Medieval Bathhouse (MA Thesis - 2013).” The Medieval Bathhouse: Bathing Culture in the Late Medieval Low Countries (2013): n. pag. Print. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Wurtzel, Ellen. “Passionate Encounters, Public Healing: Medieval Urban Bathhouses in Northern France.” French Historical Studies 46.3 (2023): 331-360. https://read.dukeupress.edu/french-historical-studies/article/46/3/331/381254/Passionate-Encounters-Public-HealingMedieval-Urban ↩︎ ↩︎
Büchner, Robert. Im städtischen Bad vor 500 Jahren: Badhaus, bader und Badegäste im alten Tirol. Böhlau, 2014. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Thirteenth century Paris, with 200,000 inhabitants, counted around 30 public bathhouses ²³²⁴, while 14th century London, with a population of 80,000, had at least 18 public baths. ²⁰ In the late 14th century Low Countries, Bruges (30,000 inhabitants) and Ghent (40,000 inhabitants) each had around twenty public baths, while smaller cities like Maastricht and Leuven (15,000 inhabitants) had around five. Vienna (Austria) counted 29 bathhouses in the fifteenth century. ²³ Medieval bathhouses, like hammams, were smaller than Roman baths. Medieval stews found in Germany and the Low Countries had a ground surface of between 100 and 200 square meters. ²³ The typical roman city bath had a surface of about 500 m2. ¹⁵ ↩︎ ↩︎
Butler, Lee. “Washing Off the Dust”: Baths and Bathing in Late Medieval Japan." Monumenta Nipponica 60.1 (2005): 1-41. https://web.archive.org/web/20190818120651id_/http://muse.jhu.edu:80/article/182356/pdf ↩︎ ↩︎
Merry, Adam M., “More Than a Bath: An Examination of Japanese Bathing Culture” (2013). CMC Senior Theses. Paper 665. http://scholarship.claremont.edu/cmc_theses/665 ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Gill, A. A. ““Chattering” in the Baths: The Urban Greek Bathing Establishment and Social Discourse in Classical Antiquity.” (2011). https://tobias-lib.ub.uni-tuebingen.de/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10900/61481/CD27_Gill_CAA2008.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y ↩︎
Górnicka, Barbara. Nakedness, shame, and embarrassment: A long-term sociological perspective. Vol. 12. Springer, 2016. ↩︎ ↩︎
A Cultural History of Parson’s Pleasure, George Townsend, PhD, Birkbeck, University of London, 2022, unpublished. See also: Dive in! A history of river swimming in Oxford. Museum of Oxford, expo 2023. https://moxdigiexhibits.omeka.net/exhibits/show/dive-in#:~:text=Dive%20In!-,A%20history%20of%20river%20swimming%20in%20Oxford,places%20for%20bathing%20and%20swimming. ↩︎
The egalitarian nature of the public bath was reinforced by the fact that people were partly or completely naked. “One stripped not only of their clothes but also of their social rank and material wealth, which become largely invisible”, concludes a historian of the Japanese public bath. ²⁸ “The true collective is a naked collective”, observes another, referring to the Russian banya. Source: Gearsimova, A. “My Banya, Your Banya: From Reality to Myth.” (2016). ↩︎
Mietz, Michael. “The fuel economy of public bathhouses in the Roman Empire.” Master’s thesis, Ghent University, Faculty of Arts and Philosophy, Campus Boekentoren, Blandijnberg 2 (2016): 9000. https://libstore.ugent.be/fulltxt/RUG01/002/303/996/RUG01-002303996_2016_0001_AC.pdf ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Wilson, A (2012) Raw materials and energy, in “The cambridge companion to the roman economy, scheidel 2012. ↩︎
Ancient deforestation revisited, Journal of the history of biology, 44 (1), 43-57. https://www.researchgate.net/profile/J-Donald-Hughes/publication/45407393_Ancient_Deforestation_Revisited/links/08ce17d911d2244431641d70/Ancient-Deforestation-Revisited.pdf ↩︎
Miliaresis, Ismini. “Heating the Stabian Baths at Pompeii.” Curious (2021): 83. https://library.oapen.org/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/58973/1/external_content.pdf#page=91 ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
The study assumes that the baths were heated for 24 hours per day and only shut down for maintenance. The fuel used for heating up the bath initially (calculated at 35 kg in the case of the Stabian Baths) is added only once to the total yearly energy use. The results are also based on the assumption that the water of the baths was changed once per day (and thus had to be heated from a cold state once per day). ↩︎
Veal, Robyn, and Victoria Leitch. Fuel and Fire in the Ancient Roman World: Towards an integrated economic understanding. McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, 2019. https://www.repository.cam.ac.uk/bitstreams/c349fc20-11d0-4ad4-a2e9-55dccca9f2df/download ↩︎ ↩︎
Miliaresis, Ismini Alexandra. Heating and Fuel Consumption in the Terme del Foro at Ostia. Diss. University of Virginia, 2013. https://libraetd.lib.virginia.edu/public_view/5d86p0445 ↩︎
Whether or not the (small) windows in the Stabian baths had glass or shutters is not entirely clear. The study concludes that energy use is pretty similar with both glazed and unglazed windows. However, the Forum baths, with windows several meters high, would have required almost 1.5 times more wood to heat rooms with unglazed windows during the month of May, and more than twice as much in the coldest month. ↩︎
Ring, James W. “Windows, baths, and solar energy in the Roman empire.” American Journal of Archaeology 100.4 (1996): 717-724. ↩︎
This may have been true for Roman bathhouses as well, but I could not find any reference to it. For hammamns, see, for example: Sibley, Magda, and Martin Sibley. “Hybrid transitions: combining biomass and solar energy for water heating in public bathhouses.” Energy Procedia 83 (2015): 525-532. ↩︎ ↩︎
A fuel use of 7.5 to 12 kg/hr averages at 9.75 kg/hr, which corresponds to 234 kg firewood per day. One kg of wood contains roughly 5 kWh of thermal energy, which brings the daily fuel use of the Forum baths to 1,170 kWh. A shower of 8.9 minutes (the average in the netherlands) takes 2.1 kWh of thermal energy. ² Conclusion: the daily energy use of the Forum Baths equals that of 557 showers. The daily fuel use of the smaller and less energy efficient Stabian baths corresponds to the energy use of 378 showers. ↩︎
Brünenberg–Jens-Arne, Monika Trümper–Clemens, et al. “Stabian Baths in Pompeii. New Research on the Development of Ancient Bathing Culture.” (2019). https://www.academia.edu/download/67567783/Truemper_et_al._Stabian_Baths_RM_2019.pdf ↩︎
The energy use of a sauna is more variable than the energy use of a shower, and I could not find any reliable academic research. The data I use are a rough estimation based on numbers that I found on internet forums and websites. Also note that climate explains part of the difference in energy efficiency: the sauna is often located in a cold climate, while most Roman baths stood around the Mediterranean. ↩︎
Williams, Marilyn T. Washing” the great unwashed": public baths in urban America, 1840-1920. Ohio State University Press, 1991. https://kb.osu.edu/bitstream/handle/1811/6282/1/Washing_the_Great_Unwashed.pdf ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Dillon, Jennifer Reed. Modernity, sanitation and the public bath: Berlin, 1896–1933, as archetype. Duke University, 2007. https://dukespace.lib.duke.edu/bitstreams/33e2fe84-16ec-4044-91d6-75d5c87d37e3/download ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
Ladd, Brian K. “Public baths and civic improvement in nineteenth-century German cities.” Journal of urban history 14.3 (1988): 372-393. ↩︎ ↩︎
The Stuttgart Bathhouse, for example, had two large pools, 300 dressing rooms, 102 bath tubs, two Russian-Roman baths, two cold water baths, a sun bath, and a bath for dogs. By the end of the century, almost every German city had erected at least one monumental bathhouse, which often included a restaurant and barber shop as well. ²⁵⁴⁶ ↩︎
New York City built 25 monumental bathhouses, and Boston included swimming pools and gymnasiums. However, other American cities exclusively built shower bathhouses for the poor classes. For example, by 1920, Chicago had erected more than twenty shower bathhouses throughout the poor and working class districts. ⁴⁶ ↩︎
Germany and Austria built shower bathhouses in poor neighbourhoods but also continued to build elaborate and expensive facilities for the higher social classes, many of them having a water supply but still lacking bathrooms. ⁴⁶ ↩︎
Talmisānī, Mayy, and Eve Gandossi. The last hammams of Cairo: a disappearing bathhouse culture. American Univ in Cairo Press, 2009. ↩︎
Damascus went down from 40 hammams in the 1940s to 13 in 2004. Source: Sibley, Magda. “The Historic hammāms of Damascus and Fez: lessons of sustainability and future developments.” The 23rd conference on passive and low energy architecture (PLEA). 2006. https://www.academia.edu/download/52232181/The_Historic_Hammms_of_Damascus_and_Fez_20170321-32624-5s2lbk.pdf Morocco is an exception. Various sources present different numbers for operating hammams which vary between 6,000 and 10,000 hammams that still operate using the traditional heating system. ⁴² ↩︎
“Tokyo starts effort to revive public bathhouses”, Julian Ryall Tokyo, October 1, 2022. https://www.dw.com/en/japan-launches-campaign-to-revive-fading-public-bathhouses/a-63282747#:~:text=In%20an%20effort%20to%20protect,pop%20into%20their%20local%20bathhouse. ↩︎
“Public baths fade from Tokyo, with nearly half gone over 15 years”, Natsumi Nakai, October 10, 2023. https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/15025294#:~:text=Public%20bathhouses%20are%20swiftly%20disappearing,to%20the%20Tokyo%20metropolitan%20government. ↩︎
“Fuel Crisis Forces Syrians to Use Public Baths”, Sputnik International, 2023. https://sputnikglobe.com/20230131/fuel-crisis-forces-syrians-to-use-public-baths-1106687250.html See also: “Aleppo bathhouse boom as Syria crisis turns showers cold”, Africanews, 2021. https://www.africanews.com/2021/12/30/aleppo-bathhouse-boom-as-syria-crisis-turns-showers-cold/ ↩︎
“Why we need to bring back the art of communal bathing”. Jamie Mackay, Aeon Magazine, 2016. https://aeon.co/ideas/why-we-need-to-bring-back-the-art-of-communal-bathing ↩︎
This is especially true in Western Europe, where opposition grew so strong that the bathhouse eventually disappeared in some regions between the sixteenth and the nineteenth century. ²³ The reasons for the temporal demise of bathing in Western Europe - a unique event in world history - are controversial among historians. Some point to the pressure of the Catholic and Protestant church, who increasingly perceived the medieval stews as places of immorality and sin. ⁵⁹ Others see the cause in epidemics, or point to changing medical views - doctors no longer considered hot water and steam healthy. ²³ Opposition started even before organized religion appeared. Ancient Roman philosopher Seneca was critical of the larger Roman baths and wrote several rants against them. He complained about the noise in the thermae, and accused them of extravagance and hedonism. See, for example: Moral letters to Lucilius by Seneca. Letter 86. On Scipio’s villa. https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Moral_letters_to_Lucilius/Letter_86 ↩︎
In Ancient Rome, some bathhouses allowed mixed bathing, while others separated male and female bathers. Prostitution was legal, but the fact that a man’s wife had bathed with other men was a legitimate reason for divorce. ¹⁵ In Muslim Spain, substantial fines were assessed to men who either slipped into the bathhouse on days assigned to women, or who were caught spying through the windows of the structure. Women risked their legal rights if they did the same. Abusing a woman in a bathhouse, even verbally, carried the death penalty. See: Powers, James F. “Frontier municipal baths and social interaction in thirteenth-century Spain.” The American Historical Review 84.3 (1979): 649.667. In the Low Countries during the middle ages, authorities distinguished “honest” from “dishonest” stews. To maintain the quality of the “honest” bathhouses, they abolished, mixed bathing, set rules for bathmaids, and made prostitution in the bathhouse illegal. ²³ ↩︎ ↩︎
There’s no doubt that public bathhouses were a vector in historical epidemics. Medical tracts even advised against visiting the bathhouse. However, almost all baths remained open, very likely because they were seen as a service too essential to withdraw. At least, that was the case in the medieval Low Countries and in the Roman Empire, see: ²³²¹ ↩︎
How to make biomass energy sustainable again? Kris De Decker, Low-tech Magazine, September 2020. https://qelnixcor.cloud/2020/09/how-to-make-biomass-energy-sustainable-again/ ↩︎
Moreover, the hypocaust was further improved in the middle ages, meaning that it could be made even more energy efficient than in Roman times. See: Heat storage hypocausts: air heating in the middle ages, Kris De Decker, Low-tech Magazine, March 2017. https://qelnixcor.cloud/2017/03/heat-storage-hypocausts-air-heating-in-the-middle-ages/ ↩︎
Heat your house with a mechanical windmill, Kris De Decker, Low-tech Magazine, February 2019. https://qelnixcor.cloud/2019/02/heat-your-house-with-a-mechanical-windmill/ ↩︎
For example, researchers at the University of Stuttgart have devised a hybrid storage system consisting of a pressurized water and steam tank that serves as a storage for solar energy. The steam can be released in a sauna anytime, while the water serves to heat the space. See: Schaefer, M., et al. “Development of a zero-energy-sauna: Simulation study of thermal energy storage.” Energy and Buildings 256 (2022): 111659. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0378778821009439. A very low-tech example is “Solauna”, which works with solar heat alone, basically by building a very large and well-insulated solar box cooker. See: https://www.biopiscinas.pt/en/solar-sauna/. “Lytefire” creates heat and steam by sunlight from mirrors concentrated on a metal plate or a bag of stones. See: https://lytefiresauna.com/en. ↩︎
See: https://www.designboom.com/architecture/bao-split-bathhouse/. Another example is a bathhouse in Eastern Iran, built in 2004, which runs on two solar collector fields (195 m2 total) and two thermally insulated storage tanks (3m3 each). The facility supplies hot water for twelve showers and four baths, serving the hot water demands of 150 people per day. Source: Azad, E. “Design, installation and operation of a solar thermal public bath in eastern iran.” Energy for Sustainable Development 16.1 (2012): 68-73. Researchers are also investigating the combined use of biomass furnaces and solar thermal collectors for hammams in Morocco. See: Krarouch, M., et al. “Simulation of floor heating in a combined solar-biomass system integrated in a public bathhouse located in Marrakech.” IOP Conference Series: Materials Science and Engineering. Vol. 353. No. 1. IOP Publishing, 2018. See also: Mohamed, Krarouch, and Haller Michel. “Design optimisation of a combined pellets and solar heating systems for water heating in a public bathhouse.” Energy Reports 6 (2020): 1628-1635. See also: Sibley, Magda, Camilla Pezzica, and Chris Tweed. “Eco-hammam: the complexity of accelerating the ecological transition of a key social heritage sector in Morocco.” Sustainability 13.17 (2021): 9935. See also: Zbaidi, Mourad, et al. “Improving the Energy Efficiency of a Traditional Hammam by Using Two Types of Heat Exchanger.” International Journal on Engineering Applications 11.6 (2023). ↩︎
How (Not) to Run a Modern Society on Solar and Wind Power Alone, Kris De Decker, Low-tech Magazine, September 2017. https://qelnixcor.cloud/2017/09/how-not-to-run-a-modern-society-on-solar-and-wind-power-alone/ See also: Battery Killers: Grid-Interactive Water Heaters, Kris De Decker, No Tech Magazine, May 2015. https://www.notechmagazine.com/2015/05/battery-killers-grid-interactive-water-heaters.html ↩︎

How to Make Biomass Energy Sustainable Again

Sun, 20 Sep 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Image: Pollarded trees in Germany. Image: René Schröder (CC BY-SA 4.0).

How is Cutting Down Trees Sustainable?

Advocating for the use of biomass as a renewable source of energy – replacing fossil fuels – has become controversial among environmentalists. The comments on the previous article, which discussed thermoelectric stoves, illustrate this:

“As the recent film Planet of the Humans points out, biomass a.k.a. dead trees is not a renewable resource by any means, even though the EU classifies it as such.”
“How is cutting down trees sustainable?”
“Article fails to mention that a wood stove produces more CO2 than a coal power plant for every ton of wood/coal that is burned.”
“This is pure insanity. Burning trees to reduce our carbon footprint is oxymoronic.”
“The carbon footprint alone is just horrifying.”
“The biggest problem with burning anything is once it’s burned, it’s gone forever.”
“The only silly question I can add to to the silliness of this piece, is where is all the wood coming from?”

In contrast to what the comments suggest, the article does not advocate the expansion of biomass as an energy source. Instead, it argues that already burning biomass fires – used by roughly 40% of today’s global population – could also produce electricity as a by-product, if they are outfitted with thermoelectric modules. Nevertheless, several commenters maintained their criticism after they read the article more carefully. One of them wrote: “We should aim to eliminate the burning of biomass globally, not make it more attractive.”

Apparently, high-tech thinking has permeated the minds of (urban) environmentalists to such an extent that they view biomass as an inherently troublesome energy source – similar to fossil fuels. To be clear, critics are right to call out unsustainable practices in biomass production. However, these are the consequences of a relatively recent, “industrial” approach to forestry. When we look at historical forest management practices, it becomes clear that biomass is potentially one of the most sustainable energy sources on this planet.

Coppicing: Harvesting Wood Without Killing Trees

Nowadays, most wood is harvested by killing trees. Before the Industrial Revolution, a lot of wood was harvested from living trees, which were coppiced. The principle of coppicing is based on the natural ability of many broad-leaved species to regrow from damaged stems or roots – damage caused by fire, wind, snow, animals, pathogens, or (on slopes) falling rocks. Coppice management involves the cutting down of trees close to ground level, after which the base – called the “stool” – develops several new shoots, resulting in a multi-stemmed tree.

Image: A coppice stool. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Image: A recently coppiced patch of oak forest. Credit: Henk vD. (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Image: Coppice stools in Surrey, England. Credit: Martinvl (CC BY-SA 4.0)

When we think of a forest or a tree plantation, we imagine it as a landscape stacked with tall trees. However, until the beginning of the twentieth century, at least half of the forests in Europe were coppiced, giving them a more bush-like appearance. ¹ The coppicing of trees can be dated back to the stone age, when people built pile dwellings and trackways crossing prehistoric fenlands using thousands of branches of equal size – a feat that can only be accomplished by coppicing. ²

Maps: The approximate historical range of coppice forests in the Czech Republic (above) and in Spain (below). Source: \"Coppice forests in Europe\", see [^1]

Ever since then, the technique formed the standard approach to wood production – not just in Europe but almost all over the world. Coppicing expanded greatly during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when population growth and the rise of industrial activity (glass, iron, tile and lime manufacturing) put increasing pressure on wood reserves.

Short Rotation Cycles

Because the young shoots of a coppiced tree can exploit an already well-developed root system, a coppiced tree produces wood faster than a tall tree. Or, to be more precise: although its photosynthetic efficiency is the same, a tall tree provides more biomass below ground (in the roots) while a coppiced tree produces more biomass above ground (in the shoots) – which is clearly more practical for harvesting. ³ Partly because of this, coppicing was based on short rotation cycles, often of around two to four years, although both yearly rotations and rotations up to 12 years or longer also occurred.

Images: Coppice stools with different rotation cycles. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Because of the short rotation cycles, a coppice forest was a very quick, regular and reliable supplier of firewood. Often, it was cut up into a number of equal compartments that corresponded to the number of years in the planned rotation. For example, if the shoots were harvested every three years, the forest was divided into three parts, and one of these was coppiced each year. Short rotation cycles also meant that it took only a few years before the carbon released by the burning of the wood was compensated by the carbon that was absorbed by new growth, making a coppice forest truly carbon neutral. In very short rotation cycles, new growth could even be ready for harvest by the time the old growth wood had dried enough to be burned.

In some tree species, the stump sprouting ability decreases with age. After several rotations, these trees were either harvested in their entirety and replaced by new trees, or converted into a coppice with a longer rotation. Other tree species resprout well from stumps of all ages, and can provide shoots for centuries, especially on rich soils with a good water supply. Surviving coppice stools can be more than 1,000 years old.

Biodiversity

A coppice can be called a “coppice forest” or a “coppice plantation”, but in reality it was neither a forest nor a plantation – perhaps something in between. Although managed by humans, coppice forests were not environmentally destructive, on the contrary. Harvesting wood from living trees instead of killing them is beneficial for the life forms that depend on them. Coppice forests can have a richer biodiversity than unmanaged forests, because they always contain areas with different stages of light and growth. None of this is true in industrial wood plantations, which support little or no plant and animal life, and which have longer rotation cycles (of at least twenty years).

Image: Coppice stools in the Netherlands. Credit: K. Vliet (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Image: Sweet chestnut coppice at Flexham Park, Sussex, England. Credit: Charlesdrakew, public domain.

Our forebears also cut down tall, standing trees with large-diameter stems – just not for firewood. Large trees were only “killed” when large timber was required, for example for the construction of ships, buildings, bridges, and windmills. ⁴ Coppice forests could contain tall trees (a “coppice-with-standards”), which were left to grow for decades while the surrounding trees were regularly pruned. However, even these standing trees could be partly coppiced, for example by harvesting their side branches while they were alive (shredding).

Multipurpose Trees

The archetypical wood plantation promoted by the industrial world involves regularly spaced rows of trees in even-aged, monocultural stands, providing a single output – timber for construction, pulpwood for paper production, or fuelwood for power plants. In contrast, trees in pre-industrial coppice forests had multiple purposes. They provided firewood, but also construction materials and animal fodder.

The targeted wood dimensions, determined by the use of the shoots, set the rotation period of the coppice. Because not every type of wood was suited for every type of use, coppiced forests often consisted of a variety of tree species at different ages. Several age classes of stems could even be rotated on the same coppice stool (“selection coppice”), and the rotations could evolve over time according to the needs and priorities of the economic activities.

Image: A small woodland with a diverse mix of coppiced, pollarded and standard trees. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Coppiced wood was used to build almost anything that was needed in a community. ⁵ For example, young willow shoots, which are very flexible, were braided into baskets and crates, while sweet chestnut prunings, which do not expand or shrink after drying, were used to make all kinds of barrels. Ash and goat willow, which yield straight and sturdy wood, provided the material for making the handles of brooms, axes, shovels, rakes and other tools.

Young hazel shoots were split along the entire length, braided between the wooden beams of buildings, and then sealed with loam and cow manure – the so-called wattle-and-daub construction. Hazel shoots also kept thatched roofs together. Alder and willow, which have almost limitless life expectancy under water, were used as foundation piles and river bank reinforcements. The construction wood that was taken out of a coppice forest did not diminish its energy supply: because the artefacts were often used locally, at the end of their lives they could still be burned as firewood.

Image: Harvesting leaf fodder in Leikanger kommune, Norway. Credit: Leif Hauge. Source: [^19]

Coppice forests also supplied food. On the one hand, they provided people with fruits, berries, truffles, nuts, mushrooms, herbs, honey, and game. On the other hand, they were an important source of winter fodder for farm animals. Before the Industrial Revolution, many sheep and goats were fed with so-called “leaf fodder” or “leaf hay” – leaves with or without twigs. ⁶

Elm and ash were among the most nutritious species, but sheep also got birch, hazel, linden, bird cherry and even oak, while goats were also fed with alder. In mountainous regions, horses, cattle, pigs and silk worms could be given leaf hay too. Leaf fodder was grown in rotations of three to six years, when the branches provided the highest ratio of leaves to wood. When the leaves were eaten by the animals, the wood could still be burned.

Pollards & Hedgerows

Coppice stools are vulnerable to grazing animals, especially when the shoots are young. Therefore, coppice forests were usually protected against animals by building a ditch, fence or hedge around them. In contrast, pollarding allowed animals and trees to be mixed on the same land. Pollarded trees were pruned like coppices, but to a height of at least two metres to keep the young shoots out of reach of grazing animals.

Illustration: Different ways of lopping trees. Credit: Helen J. Read, see [^1]

Image: Pollarded trees in Segovia, Spain. Credit: [Ecologistas en Acción](https://www.ecologistasenaccion.org/35724/).

Wooded meadows and wood pastures – mosaics of pasture and forest – combined the grazing of animals with the production of fodder, firewood and/or construction wood from pollarded trees. “Pannage” or “mast feeding” was the method of sending pigs into pollarded oak forests during autumn, where they could feed on fallen acorns. The system formed the mainstay of pork production in Europe for centuries. ⁷ The “meadow orchard” or “grazed orchard” combined fruit cultivation and grazing – pollarded fruit trees offered shade to the animals, while the animals could not reach the fruit but fertilised the trees.

Image: Forest or pasture? Something in between. A \"dehesa\" (pig forest farm) in Spain. Credit: Basotxerri (CC BY-SA 4.0).

Image: Cattle grazes among pollarded trees in Huelva, Spain. (CC BY-SA 2.5)

Image: A meadow orchard surrounded by a living hedge in Rijkhoven, Belgium. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

While agriculture and forestry are now strictly separated activities, in earlier times the farm was the forest and vice versa. It would make a lot of sense to bring them back together, because agriculture and livestock production – not wood production – are the main drivers of deforestation. If trees provide animal fodder, meat and dairy production should not lead to deforestation. If crops can be grown in fields with trees, agriculture should not lead to deforestation. Forest farms would also improve animal welfare, soil fertility and erosion control.

Line Plantings

Extensive plantations could consist of coppiced or pollarded trees, and were often managed as a commons. However, coppicing and pollarding were not techniques seen only in large-scale forest management. Small woodlands in between fields or next to a rural house and managed by an individual household would be coppiced or pollarded. A lot of wood was also grown as line plantings around farmyards, fields and meadows, near buildings, and along paths, roads and waterways. Here, lopped trees and shrubs could also appear in the form of hedgerows, thickly planted hedges. ⁸

Image: Hedge landscape in Normandy, France, around 1940. Credit: W Wolny, public domain.

Image: Line plantings in Flanders, Belgium. Detail from the Ferraris map, 1771-78.

Although line plantings are usually associated with the use of hedgerows in England, they were common in large parts of Europe. In 1804, English historian Abbé Mann expressed his surprise when he wrote about his trip to Flanders (today part of Belgium): “All fields are enclosed with hedges, and thick set with trees, insomuch that the whole face of the country, seen from a little height, seems one continued wood”. Typical for the region was the large number of pollarded trees. ⁸

Like coppice forests, line plantings were diverse and provided people with firewood, construction materials and leaf fodder. However, unlike coppice forests, they had extra functions because of their specific location. ⁹ One of these was plot separation: keeping farm animals in, and keeping wild animals or cattle grazing on common lands out. Various techniques existed to make hedgerows impenetrable, even for small animals such as rabbits. Around meadows, hedgerows or rows of very closely planted pollarded trees (“pollarded tree hedges”) could stop large animals such as cows. If willow wicker was braided between them, such a line planting could also keep small animals out. ⁸

Image: Detail of a yew hedge. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Image: A hedgerow. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Image: Pollarded tree hedge in Nieuwekerken, Belgium. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Image: Coppice stools in a pasture. Credit: Jan Bastiaens.

Trees and line plantings also offered protection against the weather. Line plantings protected fields, orchards and vegetable gardens against the wind, which could erode the soil and damage the crops. In warmer climates, trees could shield crops from the sun and fertilize the soil. Pollarded lime trees, which have very dense foliage, were often planted right next to wattle-and-daub buildings in order to protect them from wind, rain and sun. ¹⁰

Dunghills were protected by one or more trees, preventing the valuable resource from evaporating due to sun or wind. In the yard of a watermill, the wooden water wheel was shielded by a tree to prevent the wood from shrinking or expanding in times of drought or inactivity. ⁸

Image: A pollarded tree protects a water wheel. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Image: Pollarded lime trees protect a farm building in Nederbrakel, Belgium. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Location Matters

Along paths, roads and waterways, line plantings had many of the same location-specific functions as on farms. Cattle and pigs were hoarded over dedicated droveways lined with hedgerows, coppices and/or pollards. When the railroads appeared, line plantings prevented collisions with animals. They protected road travellers from the weather, and marked the route so that people and animals would not get off the road in a snowy landscape. They prevented soil erosion at riverbanks and hollow roads.

All functions of line plantings could be managed by dead wood fences, which can be moved more easily than hedgerows, take up less space, don’t compete for light and food with crops, and can be ready in a short time. ¹¹ However, in times and places were wood was scarce a living hedge was often preferred (and sometimes obliged) because it was a continuous wood producer, while a dead wood fence was a continuous wood consumer. A dead wood fence may save space and time on the spot, but it implies that the wood for its construction and maintenance is grown and harvested elsewhere in the surroundings.

Image: Pollarded tree hedge in Belgium. Credit: Geert Van der Linden.

Local use of wood resources was maximised. For example, the tree that was planted next to the waterwheel, was not just any tree. It was red dogwood or elm, the wood that was best suited for constructing the interior gearwork of the mill. When a new part was needed for repairs, the wood could be harvested right next to the mill. Likewise, line plantings along dirt roads were used for the maintenance of those roads. The shoots were tied together in bundles and used as a foundation or to fill up holes. Because the trees were coppiced or pollarded and not cut down, no function was ever at the expense of another.

Nowadays, when people advocate for the planting of trees, targets are set in terms of forested area or the number of trees, and little attention is given to their location – which could even be on the other side of the world. However, as these examples show, planting trees closeby and in the right location can significantly optimise their potential.

Shaped by Limits

Coppicing has largely disappeared in industrial societies, although pollarded trees can still be found along streets and in parks. Their prunings, which once sustained entire communities, are now considered waste products. If it worked so well, why was coppicing abandoned as a source of energy, materials and food? The answer is short: fossil fuels. Our forebears relied on coppice because they had no access to fossil fuels, and we don’t rely on coppice because we have.

Our forebears relied on coppice because they had no access to fossil fuels, and we don’t rely on coppice because we have

Most obviously, fossil fuels have replaced wood as a source of energy and materials. Coal, gas and oil took the place of firewood for cooking, space heating, water heating and industrial processes based on thermal energy. Metal, concrete and brick – materials that had been around for many centuries – only became widespread alternatives to wood after they could be made with fossil fuels, which also brought us plastics. Artificial fertilizers – products of fossil fuels – boosted the supply and the global trade of animal fodder, making leaf fodder obsolete. The mechanisation of agriculture – driven by fossil fuels – led to farming on much larger plots along with the elimination of trees and line plantings on farms.

Less obvious, but at least as important, is that fossil fuels have transformed forestry itself. Nowadays, the harvesting, processing and transporting of wood is heavily supported by the use of fossil fuels, while in earlier times they were entirely based on human and animal power – which themselves get their fuel from biomass. It was the limitations of these power sources that created and shaped coppice management all over the world.

Image: Harvesting wood from pollarded trees in Belgium, 1947. Credit : Zeylemaker, Co., Nationaal Archief (CCO)

Image: Transporting firewood in the Basque Country. Source: Notes on pollards: best practices' guide for pollarding. Gipuzkoaka Foru Aldundía-Diputación Foral de Giuzkoa, 2014.

Wood was harvested and processed by hand, using simple tools such as knives, machetes, billhooks, axes and (later) saws. Because the labour requirements of harvesting trees by hand increase with stem diameter, it was cheaper and more convenient to harvest many small branches instead of cutting down a few large trees. Furthermore, there was no need to split coppiced wood after it was harvested. Shoots were cut to a length of around one metre, and tied together in “faggots”, which were an easy size to handle manually.

It was the limitations of human and animal power that created and shaped coppice management all over the world

To transport firewood, our forebears relied on animal drawn carts over often very bad roads. This meant that, unless it could be transported over water, firewood had to be harvested within a radius of at most 15-30 km from the place where it was used. ¹² Beyond those distances, the animal power required for transporting the firewood was larger than its energy content, and it would have made more sense to grow firewood on the pasture that fed the draft animal. ¹³ There were some exceptions to this rule. Some industrial activities, like iron and potash production, could be moved to more distant forests – transporting iron or potash was more economical than transporting the firewood required for their production. However, in general, coppice forests (and of course also line plantings) were located in the immediate vicinity of the settlement where the wood was used.

In short, coppicing appeared in a context of limits. Because of its faster growth and versatile use of space, it maximised the local wood supply of a given area. Because of its use of small branches, it made manual harvesting and transporting as economical and convenient as possible.

Can Coppicing be Mechanised?

From the twentieth century onwards, harvesting was done by motor saw, and since the 1980s, wood is increasingly harvested by powerful vehicles that can fell entire trees and cut them on the spot in a matter of minutes. Fossil fuels have also brought better transportation infrastructures, which have unlocked wood reserves that were inaccessible in earlier times. Consequently, firewood can now be grown on one side of the planet and consumed at the other.

The use of fossil fuels adds carbon emissions to what used to be a completely carbon neutral activity, but much more important is that it has pushed wood production to a larger – unsustainable – scale. [14] Fossil fueled transportation has destroyed the connection between supply and demand that governed local forestry. If the wood supply is limited, a community has no other choice than to make sure that the wood harvest rate and the wood renewal rate are in balance. Otherwise, it risks running out of fuelwood, craft wood and animal fodder, and it would be abandoned.

Image: Mechanically harvested willow coppice plantation. Shortly after coppicing (right), 3-years old growth (left). Credit: Lignovis GmbH (CC BY-SA 4.0).

Likewise, fully mechanised harvesting has pushed forestry to a scale that is incompatible with sustainable forest management. Our forebears did not cut down large trees for firewood, because it was not economical. Today, the forest industry does exactly that because mechanisation makes it the most profitable thing to do. Compared to industrial forestry, where one worker can harvest up to 60 m3 of wood per hour, coppicing is extremely labour-intensive. Consequently, it cannot compete in an economic system that fosters the replacement of human labour with machines powered by fossil fuels.

Coppicing cannot compete in an economic system that fosters the replacement of human labour with machines powered by fossil fuels

Some scientists and engineers have tried to solve this by demonstrating coppice harvesting machines. ¹⁴ However, mechanisation is a slippery slope. The machines are only practical and economical on somewhat larger tracts of woodland (>1 ha) which contain coppiced trees of the same species and the same age, with only one purpose (often fuelwood for power generation). As we have seen, this excludes many older forms of coppice management, such as the use of multipurpose trees and line plantings. Add fossil fueled transportation to the mix, and the result is a type of industrial coppice management that brings few improvements.

Image: Coppiced trees along a brook in 's Gravenvoeren, Belgium. Credits: Geert Van der Linden.

Sustainable forest management is essentially local and manual. This doesn’t mean that we need to copy the past to make biomass energy sustainable again. For example, the radius of the wood supply could be increased by low energy transport options, such as cargo bikes and aerial ropeways, which are much more efficient than horse or ox drawn carts over bad roads, and which could be operated without fossil fuels. Hand tools have also improved in terms of efficiency and ergonomics. We could even use motor saws that run on biofuels – a much more realistic application than their use in car engines. ¹⁵

The Past Lives On

This article has compared industrial biomass production with historical forms of forest management in Europe, but in fact there was no need to look to the past for inspiration. The 40% of the global population consisting of people in poor societies that still burn wood for cooking and water and/or space heating, are no clients of industrial forestry. Instead, they obtain firewood in much of the same ways that we did in earlier times, although the tree species and the environmental conditions can be very different. ¹⁶

A 2017 study calculated that the wood consumption by people in “developing” societies – good for 55% of the global wood harvest and 9-15% of total global energy consumption – only causes 2-8% of anthropogenic climate impacts. ¹⁷ Why so little? Because around two-thirds of the wood that is harvested in developing societies is harvested sustainably, write the scientists. People collect mainly dead wood, they grow a lot of wood outside the forest, they coppice and pollard trees, and they prefer the use of multipurpose trees, which are too valuable to cut down. The motives are the same as those of our ancestors: people have no access to fossil fuels and are thus tied to a local wood supply, which needs to be harvested and transported manually.

Image: African women carrying firewood. (CC BY-SA 4.0)

These numbers confirm that it is not biomass energy that’s unsustainable. If the whole of humanity would live as the 40% that still burns biomass regularly, climate change would not be an issue. What is really unsustainable is a high energy lifestyle. We can obviously not sustain a high-tech industrial society on coppice forests and line plantings alone. But the same is true for any other energy source, including uranium and fossil fuels.

Multiple references: Unrau, Alicia, et al. Coppice forests in Europe. University of Freiburg, 2018. // Notes on pollards: best practices’ guide for pollarding. Gipuzkoako Foru Aldundia-Diputación Foral de Gipuzkoa, 2014. // A study of practical pollarding techniques in Northern Europe. Report of a three month study tour August to November 2003, Helen J. Read. // Aarden wallen in Europa, in “Tot hier en niet verder: historische wallen in het Nederlandse landschap”, Henk Baas, Bert Groenewoudt, Pim Jungerius and Hans Renes, Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed, 2012. ↩︎
Logan, William Bryant. Sprout lands: tending the endless gift of trees. WW Norton & Company, 2019. ↩︎
Holišová, Petra, et al. “Comparison of assimilation parameters of coppiced and non-coppiced sessile oaks”. Forest-Biogeosciences and Forestry 9.4 (2016): 553. ↩︎
Perlin, John. A forest journey: the story of wood and civilization. The Countryman Press, 2005. ↩︎
Most of this information comes from a Belgian publication (in Dutch language): Handleiding voor het inventariseren van houten beplantingen met erfgoedwaarde. Geert Van der Linden, Nele Vanmaele, Koen Smets en Annelies Schepens, Agentschap Onroerend Erfgoed, 2020. For a good (but concise) reference in English, see Rotherham, Ian. Ancient Woodland: history, industry and crafts. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2013. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
While leaf fodder was used all over Europe, it was especially widespread in mountainous regions, such as Scandinavia, the Alps and the Pyrenees. For example, in Sweden in 1850, 1.3 million sheep and goats consumed a total of 190 million sheaves annually, for which at least 1 million hectares deciduous woodland was exploited, often in the form of pollards. The harvest of leaf fodder predates the use of hay as winter fodder. Branches could be cut with stone tools, while cutting grass requires bronze or iron tools. While most coppicing and pollarding was done in winter, harvesting leaf fodder logically happened in summer. Bundles of leaf fodder were often put in the pollarded trees to dry. References: Logan, William Bryant. Sprout lands: tending the endless gift of trees. WW Norton & Company, 2019. // A study of practical pollarding techniques in Northern Europe. Report of a three month study tour August to November 2003, Helen J. Read. // Slotte H., “Harvesting of leaf hay shaped the Swedish landscape”, Landscape Ecology 16.8 (2001): 691-702. ↩︎
Wealleans, Alexandra L. “Such as pigs eat: the rise and fall of the pannage pig in the UK”. Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture 93.9 (2013): 2076-2083. ↩︎
This information is based on several Dutch language publications: Handleiding voor het inventariseren van houten beplantingen met erfgoedwaarde. Geert Van der Linden, Nele Vanmaele, Koen Smets en Annelies Schepens, Agentschap Onroerend Erfgoed, 2020. // Handleiding voor het beheer van hagen en houtkanten met erfgoedwaarde. Thomas Van Driessche, Agentschap Onroerend Erfgoed, 2019 // Knotbomen, knoestige knapen: een praktische gids. Geert Van der Linden, Jos Schenk, Bert Geeraerts, Provincie Vlaams-Brabant, 2017. // Handleiding: Het beheer van historische dreven en wegbeplantingen. Thomas Van Driessche, Paul Van den Bremt and Koen Smets. Agentschap Onroerend Erfgoed, 2017. // Dirkmaat, Jaap. Nederland weer mooi: op weg naar een natuurlijk en idyllisch landschap. ANWB Media-Boeken & Gidsen, 2006. // For a good source in English, see: Müller, Georg. Europe’s Field Boundaries: Hedged banks, hedgerows, field walls (stone walls, dry stone walls), dead brushwood hedges, bent hedges, woven hedges, wattle fences and traditional wooden fences. Neuer Kunstverlag, 2013. // If line plantings were mainly used for wood production, they were planted at some distance from each other, allowing more light and thus a higher wood production. If they were mainly used as plot boundaries, they were planted more closely together. This diminished the wood harvest but allowed for a thicker growth. ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎ ↩︎
In fact, coppice forests could also have a location-specific function: they could be placed around a city or settlement to form an impenetrable obstacle for attackers, either by foot or by horse. They could not easily be destroyed by shooting, in contrast to a wall. Source: ⁵ ↩︎
Lime trees were even used for fire prevention. They were planted right next to the baking house in order to stop the spread of sparks to wood piles, haystacks and thatched roofs. Source: ⁵ ↩︎
The fact that living hedges and trees are harder to move than dead wood fences and posts also has practical advantages. In Europe until the French era, there was no land register and boundaries where physically indicated in the landscape. The surveyor’s work was sealed with the planting of a tree, which is much harder to move on the sly than a pole or a fence. Source: ⁵ ↩︎
And, if it could be brought in over water from longer distances, the wood had to be harvested within 15-30 km of the river or coast. ↩︎
Sieferle, Rolf Pieter. The Subterranean Forest: energy systems and the industrial revolution. White Horse Press, 2001. ↩︎
Vanbeveren, S.P.P., et al. “Operational short rotation woody crop plantations: manual or mechanised harvesting?” Biomass and Bioenergy 72 (2015): 8-18. ↩︎
However, chainsaws can have adverse effects on some tree species, such as reduced growth or greater ability to transfer disease. ↩︎
Multiple sources that refer to traditional forestry practices in Africa: Leach, Gerald, and Robin Mearns. Beyond the woodfuel crisis: people, land and trees in Africa. Earthscan, 1988. // Leach, Melissa, and Robin Mearns. “The lie of the land: challenging received wisdom on the African environment.” (1998) // Cline-Cole, Reginald A. “Political economy, fuelwood relations, and vegetation conservation: Kasar Kano, Northerm Nigeria, 1850-1915.” Forest & Conservation History 38.2 (1994): 67-78. ↩︎
Multiple references: Bailis, Rob, et al. “Getting the number right: revisiting woodfuel sustainability in the developing world.” Environmental Research Letters 12.11 (2017): 115002 // Masera, Omar R., et al. “Environmental burden of traditional bioenergy use.” Annual Review of Environment and Resources 40 (2015): 121-150. // Study downgrades climate impact of wood burning, John Upton, Climate Central, 2015. ↩︎