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Showing posts with label country. Show all posts
Showing posts with label country. Show all posts

Autumn's last gasp







It looks so dramatic.  The valley at this time of year.   Mist settles on the hills, a few golden leaves cling stubbornly to the deciduous trees and the sun never seems to shine. The whiff of smokey bonfires linger in the air.  Cold, wet and gothic.

Unwanted apples sit forlornly on the trees, and little birds feast on the forgotten fruit. Or they'll fall to the ground where worms and bugs will finish them off. Shrivelled blackberries are dotted along the brambles and stick to my tights as I scramble along the hedge.   And bright red rose hips look so pretty glistening in the fading autumn light.

Autumn's last gasp.

Red and green

Today is another tomato story. The last for the season I should think. This morning, after a quick ride on my gorgeous new Mothers' Day present, we packed a picnic and headed to the coast. Our destination :: the gorgeous blueberry farm where our tomato patch was planted all those months ago. Our mission :: pick all the remaining green tomatoes.  

Despite ambitions dreams, it wasn't a great crop this year, they got off to a slow start, and there wasn't nearly enough tomatoes to preserve. We kept hoping they would ripen, but today we called it, time to call it a day for those tomato plants.  

First though, a delicious picnic that included rooster salad and rhubarb cake, sitting under the vibrant deep red blueberry bushes.  Then we stripped the sad scraggly tomato plants and filled lots of buckets, about 20 kilos was the end tally, if only they were red!  Work finished, we headed to the little beach across the road to enjoy the lingering late autumn sun.

We'll lay those hard green tomatoes out in a warm sunny spot and hope they will continue to ripen, those that don't will make green tomato jam or green tomato pickle. 

Still a little work to do, so I guess it's not really the end of the tomato story at all.










Little treasures

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I must admit I've had quite a crush on the work of stylist, photographer and author Pia Jane Bijerk for some time.  There is something so dreamy and ethereal about her work.  Something intangible. It's beautiful.  

This month I couldn't believe Pia had listed my blog in her Country Style column.  *faints* Oh my! What a delightful surprise. 

The least I could do in return was contribute to Pia's new project, a self published book titled Little Treasures :: Made by Hand.

It's such a sweet concept. In Pia's words

Imagine if I could create a book, photographing and cataloguing each unique object, writing a little about each person who made and sent the gift, sharing links to their websites so others could also buy their beautiful creations or find out more about them. It would be a collection of little treasures, connecting creative souls around the globe. I thought, Yes, this would be the most wonderful way to say thank you…

Pia is using a crowd funding site to raise money to publish her book, if you'd like to help the details are here.

There are so many sweet rewards for supporting the project for as little as $10.  

I love crowd funding and have supported many projects.  It's so gratifying to see creative people making their dreams come true and knowing you've played a small part in making it happen.  




Life is just a bowl of cherries





There's been a lot going on around here lately. I seem to be running from one thing to the next.  Some highs and some lows.  Happy times and sad.   My girl turned ten (!) We celebrated Christmas with good food and good friends.  I felt like I ran a marathon prepping and working for a friend at the Taste Festival.  And MoMa keeps going from strength to strength.

But for the most, it's hard to think about anything much than the devastation that has hit our island.  So many homes lost to intense bush fires.  So much devastation.   Heartbreaking.

The flip side is the incredible show of community spirit as people come together to help those in need.

Humans are amazing.

The camera sits forlornly on the table.  Not used much lately.  But then amidst all the goings one, there was a moment I photographed with Hugo.  After a friend gave us a huge bucket of cherries from his tree.  I took them and I sat with Hugo on the verandah and we ate those cherries.  As the cherries stained his clothes, I taught him an important life skill.  That is, to spit the pips over the railing.  

I sat and looked down at what's left of my garden, at the shrivelled leaves on the fruit trees, the wilted berries and the dead brown grass.  All decimated after 40 plus temperatures, crazy hot winds and no rain for weeks.  Not a drop.  I try to feel grateful that I still have a garden.  Plenty don't. I do feel grateful but it is still hard nonetheless.  

So I sit with my son, spit pips over the railing and life seems perfect for a moment.  I forget about the bad stuff, breath in the moment, remember the good and finish that bucket of cherries.

Feeling incredibly lucky really.

Backyard bliss



On Sunday, with the boys at home feeling poorly, Elsa and I hit the road to visit friends.  Afternoon tea was served on the verandah, but I couldn't help but wander through the amazing garden, a working garden, an inspiring garden and take a hundreds of snaps.

Motivated by clever border plantings, espailered fruit trees and rows of flowers for cutting, I spent the evening dreaming and planning on how I could achieve a garden as beautiful as this one.

Sometimes I get frustrated that I don't get things done fast enough in the garden.  For every one job that is crossed off the top of the to-do list, another three appear at the bottom.  I take great comfort visiting gardens like this, a work in project of some forty odd years, encouraged by the fact that I'm still on track time wise...

A fine tilth and the second crop



I'd spent the last two days working the bbq.  Saturday was a doddle, but Sunday was crazy.  Six hot hours of nonstop cooking pulled pork and turning sausages.  As much as I really enjoyed working with these guys at this event, come Sunday afternoon I stank of bbq and was tired, hot and bothered, but my day was not done.

A friend and I were meeting for a seed sowing workshop with the remarkable Kate.  I needed help with my sowing endeavours. I had sowed seventy pots with tomato seeds in early October, but only three of them germinated.  Three.  It was looking like my dreams of a home grown passata party this summer were dashed again.   I was keen to find some answers to where I might of gone wrong.

Despite smelling of pork fat, I dashed straight to Cygnet to make the 5pm class.   The setting was perfect.  After only a moment standing in Kate's beautiful productive garden, filled with vegetables and flowers, with the afternoon sun casting its golden glow, my weary bones felt instantly restored and the smell of grease suddenly (I hope) went unnoticed. I was all ears, ready to listen to some garden wisdom.

Kate belongs to the seed savers network, and is on a mission to show as many people as possible how easy it is to sow, save and share seeds. It's important work.

What did I learn?

To let your vegetable plants grow tall and spindly and go to seed.
Indeed, to think of the seeds as a second crop.
Collect those seeds, save some, plant some and share some.
Let the plants self seed to create new plants in your garden. Move them if they're in the wrong spot, these seedlings will be more robust and healthier than any store bought seedling. And free.
Mixing flowers and plants together means that each little piece of garden you work in will not only look beautiful but create more biodiversity. Which means healthier plants.

I also leant:

A fine tilth not only sounds lovely, but it's important for the seeds that you sow, so they get an easy start.
That a decent sized stick makes a fine rake handle.
That a vintage compost sifter is a must to make your own potting mix (okay, it doesn't have to be vintage, that's just me).
There is such a thing as a ladies spade and that I really need one.  
And a fine misting nozzle is essential to keep the seeds moist and not to wash them away with a heavy downpour from a crappy watering can.

Today, I walk around my garden and look at in a different light.   It's not messy, it's alive.  It needs more flowers mixed in with the veggie patch. And those tall spindly plants that look like they should pulled out and thrown to chooks?  The swiss chard, parsnip, parsley and kale? They are the most important plants in garden right now, my second crop, they are next year's seeds, next year's food.

Since the weekend, I'm not sure if it's the very warm days, the eclipse, or the fact I have a little more understanding of seeds and their needs, but those seventy pots of potting mix sitting in the greenhouse have burst into life with a good dozen tomato seedlings popping up since Monday.  Too late in the season? Perhaps.  But with a good long summer, a fine misting nozzle and a (ahem) ladies spade, we may just get a first, and second crop after all.

Real raw food




If last week I did something crazy, this week I did something totally illegal.  Yes, I broke the law.  I bought and drank pet milk.  Alternatively known as raw milk.

Inspired by the Real Food book by Nina Planck, I've been itching to get my hands on high quality raw milk for ages, and found myself considering the idea of getting a house cow. However quietly asking around for a regular supply, this week I finally found it.

"You're allowed to buy cigarettes but you're not allowed to buy this. It's not for human consumption -  only for pets" stated the source of my illegal booty.  I couldn't help ponder this absurd state of affairs as I drove straight home and poured myself a glass.  It tasted so sweet and delicious and unlike any milk I've ever tasted.  It was so good I had to pour it over a bowl of granola and promptly gobbled that up too.  

The big test was going to be if the peeps drank it, because really, I want them to enjoy the health benefits that raw milk provides.   Having never liked drinking milked before, they almost polished off two litres last night and this morning.  Law broken again.  But I was smug in the knowledge that their tummies were full of vitamins, enzymes, fatty acids, beneficial bacteria and a host of other goodness that crime seems a small price to pay.

The virtues of clean raw milk sourced from grass fed cows are extensive, and there's plenty of information around if you look.  Both for and against.  It's a complex issue that I won't explore here.  What I am looking forward to is making yoghurt, butter and fresh cheeses.  All for my pets of course.  I wouldn't to be involved in any illegal activity.

But I was reminded of this... 

The crumble wars



I've been going through a bit of British Cookery stage lately.  Perhaps fuelled by the fact we're moving closer to the dream of installing a Rayburn wood stove (built by Aga!) becoming a reality.  There's something about these autumn days that has me reaching for the books of English favourites like Nigel, Monty and Sarah, Jamie, Nigella and Patrick, Dominic and Cass for some nostalgic comfort food.

With Victorian sponges, toad in the hole and kippers on my mind, coupled with the fact of the abundance of apples and blackberries in our garden, we've been eating plenty of crumbles lately.   Served with a dollop of our favourite yoghurt, why it's positively a health food that can be eaten most nights with a clear conscience.

However, I admit to not having found a really good crumble topping yet, so we've been having a crumble bake off, each night trying a different crumble recipe.  Pitting Monty against Nigel, Jamie against Nigella. 

So far, the results are inconclusive, Jamie wins points for containing nutritious oats, Nigel is certainly a front runner at this stage, whose crumble has an almost shortbread texture, due to his refusal to be parsimonious with the butter. Both Nigella and Monty's versions are perfectly acceptable crumble toppings, but none really hit the mark.

Funny enough, it's my neighbour who makes the best crumble I've ever had, it's super crunchy because she cooks the topping on a baking tray in the oven first.  Seems I didn't have to go far after all to find the perfect recipe.  Still, proper British cookery is something I should perfect before the arrival of our hydronic stove.  I wouldn't want her to get homesick. Luckily I have p.l.e.n.t.y. of time to practice!